


A Month of Sundays—Part 1

by x_art



Category: Jericho (US 2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:10:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end was just the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Month of Sundays—Part 1

_“How does it feel?”_

_“What?”_

_“Making history.”_

The EMT turned away from his monitor and glanced between Jake and Hawkins with raised eyebrows. When he saw Jake watching, he quickly turned back around, but the stiff set of his shoulders said he was eavesdropping, also waiting for an answer.

And as far as Jake was concerned, the EMT could wait until hell froze over—if _he _could hardly make sense of the past forty-eight hours, then how could an outsider? Hawkins had said it best, months ago when he'd first let Jake in on his secret, _‘I can barely handle it and I was _trained_for this.’_

Government conspiracies. A puppet president put in power by a corporation that might end up with the country in its pocket—it was like something from a bad made-for-TV thriller. And the worst of it? The nuke they’d just delivered to the Texas Government to illustrate that it had been part and parcel of one of the worst terrorist attacks the world had ever seen, a weapon that could still usher in—or prevent—a second civil war.

_Civil war._

Just the words made his stomach hurt and his hands grow cold. Even after all he’d seen, all he knew, he still couldn’t believe that civil war lay in their future. It was too much, especially _now _when they'd done the deal and managed to deliver the bomb into safe hands.

And so he pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the important things, the understandable things, like why the hell was the ambulance taking so long to get to the hospital? He’d visited San Antonio a couple times and yeah, it was a big city, but still…

Hawkins had said he’d had worse wounds but Jake wasn’t buying it. The bandage wrapped around his waist was dirty red with blood and he winced and gasped every time the ambulance took a corner too fast or swerved around a vehicle.

When they’d boarded the ambulance back at the airport, he'd tried to get Hawkins to take something for the pain, but Hawkins had pushed the meds away, whispering that he needed to stay alert in case Jake needed him. And Jake hadn’t pressed him, had understood the need because he felt the same fear—the last thing he wanted was to be doped up. He needed to be clear-headed until he knew they were safe. Really and truly safe.

And hopefully that would be soon because the ambulance took a sharp right and he fell backwards, his vision fading out, the world growing fuzzy around the corners. He had enough medical knowledge to know what was happening: the adrenaline high he’d been surfing for days now was petering out—he was going into mild shock.

He supposed it didn’t help that less than two days ago he’d been recovering from one of the more brutal events of his life. Being kidnapped and tortured, he thought with grim black humor, had really put the rest of his life in perspective. He already had a load of crap to deal with—his conversation with his dad last winter had proved that. Adding last week to the pile?

He’d be lucky if he didn’t spend the rest of his life in therapy.

The ambulance swerved again, this time to the left, and the world went dark again. He gripped the gurney tight and bent over, trying to clear the fog from his vision.

“Sir?” The tech was twisted around, looking at him.

He straightened and held up a hand. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Jake?” Hawkins was peering up at him with worried eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” He squeezed Hawkins’ shoulder and tried for a grin. “Been a long day.”

Hawkins rasped out a laugh and nodded. “Yeah, one for the books. But you gotta rest soon, you hear?”

Without waiting for his reply, Hawkins craned his head to look up at the tech. “You make sure he sleeps, even if you have to knock him out, okay? He’s been through a lot.” He turned back. “Don’t make me worry about you, Jake.”

He shook his head. Hawkins had said something similar a couple times in the last few weeks and he wasn’t sure what to make of the comments—he wasn’t five years old, for Christ’s sake.

“Jake—” Hawkins bit off whatever he was about to say when the ambulance took two corners in quick succession, and screeched to a stop. He arched against the gurney’s restraints, moaned softly, and passed out.

“We’re here,” The tech muttered unnecessarily as he got up and began to prepare Hawkins for the move. Jake hit the door latch and scrambled out, hand on the comforting bulk of his gun, ready for anything.

_‘Anything’_ wasn’t what he’d expected. Instead of a hospital, they’d pulled up in front of a two-story building. It was hard to see in the dark, but it looked like any ordinary, built-in-the-70s office building—tan brick with a wide double door entrance at the corner. The only thing that said, ‘Medical,’ was the small crowd of medics that were waiting at the curb. They wore blue uniforms and scrubs and looked like they knew what they were doing when they hurried by Jake and helped the EMT to lower Hawkins to the ground. They rushed by Jake again, wheeling Hawkins into the building.

Jake trailed after them slowly, looking around. He saw no signage of any kind, no emergency entrance, not even a street address. What he did see, things that simultaneously relieved him and made the fist in his stomach clench tighter, was an entry gate with a shadowy figure inside the guard booth, security cameras that angled every which way, and a complicated network of power lines that fed into what he thought was the south side of the building.

The EMT that had been driving the ambulance came around the corner of the vehicle and Jake caught his arm. “Where—?”

“A secure facility, sir. I can’t tell you anymore.” He nodded to the front of the building as if that answered Jake’s question. Which it didn’t and Jake turned to the doors, striding to catch up with the crowd of medics as they pushed Hawkins through the front door.

If the exterior of the ‘secure facility’ looked like an ordinary office building, the interior looked like every hospital Jake had ever seen: Aseptic white walls, spotless grey floors, bland landscapes on the walls, and a reception desk on the left. The only unusual thing was that other than the crew with Hawkins, the place was empty. Even the reception desk was unmanned and Jake rubbed the back of his neck.

And then turned to follow the group as they headed left and continued down a long hallway. He was rounding the reception desk corner when someone called out his name.

“Jake Green?”

He turned to find a woman in a pale blue lab coat hurried towards him, chart in one hand, manila folders in the other. She was middle-aged, short, and reminded him a bit of his mother, except she was maybe fifteen years younger. “I’m Doctor Louden, administrator of this facility.” She nodded briskly without looking at him. Jake craned his head to see Hawkins being wheeled into a room and he shifted from foot to foot. “I know you must have a lot of questions, but all I can tell you right now is that we’re a secure facility with direct ties to the Texan government. And that I was notified of your arrival by Ambassador Travis.”

She paused and glanced up at Jake. Her eyes skated past his, as if she didn’t want to look directly at him. So, not so much like his mother. “I don’t know what you and Mr. Ellis did,” She tucked the folders under her arm and opened the chart up, “but you can rest assured we’ll do everything in our power to help him. We’ve already received his medical records from a Major Parker. Mr. Ellis’s blood type is common so there are no worries there.”

Jake frowned and opened his mouth to ask who the hell Ellis and Parker were, and then he remembered. Trust Hawkins and Chavez to keep their spook personas intact, even when one of them was bleeding out from a gunshot wound.

Louden looked up at Jake again, this time meeting his eyes for a brief moment. He wondered what Chavez and Travis had told her. Nothing good, it looked like. She was jumpy and nervous, as if she expected him to pull a gun and start shooting. And—

Maybe she was. Maybe she was one of Smith’s people, or Cheyenne’s. Just because she was in a ‘secure facility,’ and a doctor to boot, didn’t mean anything—he’d learned that the hard way.

“Thanks, doc. Can I—” He jerked his thumb to the room where Hawkins had disappeared and edged around her, but she held up her hand and stepped in front of him.

“I’m sorry, he’s in surgery right now; you can see him later.”

Jake nodded and grinned, not nicely. “That wasn’t a request.” He shoved her aside and broke into a run. Louden called out something, but he ignored her.

Hawkins wasn’t hurt that badly, he’d said so himself. The bullet had gone through his side and he needed the wound checked and a few stitches, but that was all, right? There wasn’t any reason to keep Jake out—unless Hawkins wasn’t even in there anymore…

An image of Hawkins being spirited away or something worse flashed through Jake’s mind and he burst through the door, opening it so violently that smashed into the wall and someone cried out and another someone came rushing up and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Mr. Green!” Louden caught up with him and snatched at his jacket. “_Mr. Green—”_

Jake shrugged her off, and stared. The techs were all staring at him, eyes wide with surprise. The man holding him was a security guard with a very tight grip and very mean eyes.

“It’s okay, Kevin,” Louden said quietly. Without taking his eyes off Jake, the guard let him go and backed away to stand by the wall.

Jake took a deep breath and looked around. Hawkins was still on the gurney. He was stripped to his shorts and the bandage was gone. He wasn’t being tortured or drugged or kidnapped. As far as Jake could see, a tech was giving him a couple pints of blood and another was cleaning him up.

The room was lined with medical equipment and a waiting bed, and on the right was another room with a glass observation window—it was a small surgical room. Inside stood a masked and gowned man, waiting.

Jake ran his hand over his jaw and slumped against the frame of the door. He hadn’t felt so stupid in a long, long time. Which was saying something, considering the past few years, the past few months.

“Jake?” Hawkins had turned his head—he was barely awake but he managed a smile. “I’m fine. They’re just doing their job. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He turned to Louden and hunched his shoulders. “I’m sorry, doc. We’ve just had a couple bad days.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Green. I understand.”

But she didn’t. She was pissed, and Jake couldn’t blame her. “Maybe I should—”

“Go get cleaned up Jake,” Hawkins interrupted and jerked his chin to the door. “You can come back later.” That was for Louden’s benefit and she nodded stiffly in return. “I’ll be fine,” he repeated firmly.

Jake grimaced an apology to Hawkins and the staff before following Louden out. She said nothing as she led him down the hall to a door marked, ‘Visitor.’ She ushered him in and held the door open to a room that was another surprise—in soft blues and greens, it was more like a hotel suite than a place to stick unwanted guests.

“We keep this for overnight visitors who need a place to stay out of the public eye,” Louden said, as if reading Jake’s mind. Or maybe she was just over explaining since he’d just proved that he didn’t trust her. “For security reasons, there are no telephone or internet connections in this room. We have a secure phone at the nurse’s station and you can use my computer if you absolutely need it.” Her tone told Jake he better not need it. “There are fresh scrubs in the top drawer,” she pointed to a long dresser under a huge painting of three running horses, “and the bathroom should have everything you need for a shower.”

She turned to leave and Jake caught her arm. “Doctor, I really am sorry. It’s just—” He shrugged, unwilling to explain further.

Louden thawed enough to give Jake a short nod. She left, saying over her shoulder, “There’s ointment under the sink. For all those bruises.”

Jake closed the door and knocked his head against it a couple times, then turned and walked to the middle of the room. This was the first time he’d been alone in what, six or seven days? He couldn’t remember exactly, and he closed his eyes, at a full, sudden, stop.

All the trauma, the drama, was catching up and the injuries he’d been ignoring started to hurt. His back and head ached, his shoulders were sore. So did his ribs, arms, and wrists—hell, even his _feet_ hurt. And he was so damn tired…

He dropped his head and looked at the carpet. It was nice and thick and he wondered if they’d be angry if he just fell where he stood, dirty boots, bloody jacket, and just slept on the floor. It was tempting, but he had to get back to see how Hawkins was doing, to make sure nothing happened to him, not after all he’d been through.

So he pulled off his jacket, toed off his boots, and opened the bathroom door.

It was a revelation. White tile, white towels and a shower large enough for two; it was the cleanest bathroom he’d seen in months, maybe years. Even his mom’s wasn’t this clean and she was a hygiene fanatic.

He found a razor, a toothbrush and toothpaste in the top drawer of the vanity, and underneath, the first aid stuff. He thought about taking the supply of cotton balls, bandages, and alcohol—Jericho Medical could really use them—but he left them alone. He didn’t have anywhere to stash them and Louden’d be really pissed if she found out he was stealing from her.

He grinned at the thought, and began stripping of the rest of his clothes. His pants, t-shirt, and socks were filthy, so stiff with blood and dirt, he didn’t want to leave them on the floor. He bundled them up with his shorts and tossed them in the sink.

He was turning to the shower when he caught sight of his own reflection in the broad mirror above the vanity. He stood there staring, mouth open in shock.

He’d always bruised easily—his mom had said he got his thin skin from her side of the family just as Eric got his thick skin from their dad, but this…

His chest was one massive, multi-colored bruise that continued around his ribs to his back. His upper arms and shoulders were brown with finger-shaped marks and random cuts. On his left hip there was a long dark stain that was almost purple. Even his legs were marred and torn up.

Jake ran his hand over the bruise on his hip and gritted his teeth at the memory of Beck and Beck’s men, standing over him, questioning him again and again until he passed out, only to wake him so they could begin again. They must have kicked him at some point, but he didn’t remember that…

Jake knew he’d been afraid, knew it had hurt; he’d been there, after all. But seeing the physical evidence revived memory, revived rage and fear—

He snarled and raised his fist to smash his mirror image, at the last minute twisting to divert his aim, pounding the wall instead.

He stayed there for a moment, leaning against the vanity, the wall, breathing too hard, almost panting, waiting for the pain in his hand to fade when another, more recent memory intruded. ‘_How does it feel?‘_

Hawkins had been where Jake was, probably many times, and Jake knew what he would say: _‘Breathe, Jake, just breathe. Beck will get his, in time.’_

Jake nodded to himself and took a breath. It was too shaky, so he took another, making it deep and steady. He straightened, this time seeing beyond his bruised and torn flesh. He was beat up, yeah, but he was still standing, still alive. He nodded again, this time in thanks to the man down the hall and calmly turned to the shower.

 

——————————

 

Slowly, like he was crawling to the summit of an impossible mountain, Robert Hawkins woke up. He didn’t open his eyes but waited for his senses to kick in, just in case—

He was in a bed that smelled clean, his side was stiff with an undercover pain, the drone of medical equipment hummed nearby, and further away someone whistled John Denver’s _Sunshine on My Shoulder._

The sheer banality of the tune jarred him fully awake and he caught his breath as memory returned.

The package was delivered, he was in a military clinic in San Antonio, and Jake was safe. They were all, for the moment, safe.

Relief and a weak euphoria washed over him and he relaxed into the soft mattress and sighed. There was still so much to do. Reconstruction on such a massive scale didn’t happen over night. Civil war—if it came to that—might be the least of it. But that was for later, now he could rest.

He was almost out again when an incongruous noise, a soft raspy burr, woke him up again.

He opened his eyes, squinting at first even though the room was relatively dark, lit only by a single fluorescent tube. He turned his head and found Jake, fast asleep in a chair to next the bed. Rob rolled to his good side to get a better view.

Jake was sprawled out, dead to the world, his long legs and arms draped every which way. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes, but he’d washed and shaved—the dirt and week-old beard were gone.

Rob smiled because Jake was wearing scrubs that were too short and they made him look like a kid. His ankles were bare and his shirt had pulled up, exposing his belly, exposing the bruises that patterned his torso.

Rob’s smile turned into a frown. Even in the low light he could see the long dark mark on the curve of Jake’s hip that traveled from front to back. The point of impact was darkest in the center; it had probably been made by a boot or a club. His wrists were a mess and his arms and ankles were mottled in varying shades of brown.

Rob ground his teeth in helpless anger. He hadn’t paid much attention when he’d gotten back to the safe house and found Jake in his bed, newly rescued from Beck and his men. Rob hadn’t noticed because he’d been so focused on his own godawful mistake…

Before he and Jake had left Jericho for Cheyenne, Emily had pulled him aside and told him what Jake had gone through. He had, she’d whispered, had been tortured and starved for almost four days running—she wasn’t sure how much more he could handle.

Rob had gently but firmly pushed her concerns aside; there was no time to sit Jake down, no time for any PTSD counseling. Rob had just said a silent prayer that Jake would hold up through the trials ahead and trust that his initial analysis of Jake’s skills and strength was accurate.

But now he had time to think and plan, and one of the first things he was going to have to do was find a way to get Jake to a therapist or whatever passed for a therapist in war-torn Jericho. And that was going to be a bitch, because Jake was a piece of work, and that was for sure.

He hadn’t been flattering Jake, the year before when he’d taken Jake into his confidence, when he’d brought him to his shed and shown him just what was buried under the floorboards. He _had_ been keeping an eye on Jake, from the very beginning.

After his arrival in town, Rob had spent as much time as possible hanging out at Bailey’s, getting the lay of the land, figuring out what the hell was going on. It was crucial that the town didn’t implode from its own panic and he had some groundwork to do first.

He got to know a few of the regulars in an effort to find out who was who—from past experience, he’d learned that the person in charge was often not, well, the person in charge. With a little careful digging, he’d found out that Mayor Green was held in high respect and that everyone liked his son Eric, and expected him to follow in his footsteps. But the youngest boy, Jake…

Jake, Rob had learned, was the black sheep of the family, always in trouble, always up to no good—there had been rumors of drugs, petty larceny and he’d even spent time in the local jail. He was given to running off with no warning or reason and no one knew where he’d been or why he’d come back to town just after the Denver bomb had turned Jericho upside down. It was a coincidence, some argued, but since Rob didn’t trust coincidences, he’d watched Jake carefully.

And what he’d found wasn’t what he’d expected. That despite Jake’s sketchy background, his presence in town was mere bad luck—or good luck—in Rob’s opinion. That for all his relative youth, Jake was smart and quick on his feet, reacting and _doing _when other men were running around in a panic. And that he was good with a variety of weapons, and people looked to him for guidance—he was a natural born leader.

But his good qualities were offset by some serious flaws because Jake was also aggressive, stubborn and more than a little headstrong, always rushing in where angels feared to tread—hell, where angels wouldn’t come within a hundred _miles_—only to get knocked down so he could get back up again.

And he tended to think and act with his heart, which, in Rob’s experience, was always dangerous and sometimes got a person dead.

But none of that really mattered, he thought with an internal shrug. He and Jake had gone too far down the road together and Rob had no intention of letting him fall apart. He’d come to rely on Jake, and wanted him by his side or at his back for the fire fight to come.

The thing was, Jake had to heal up first or he’d be no use to anyone, especially himself. He had a boatload of issues that popped up at the most inconvenient times. Defiance and problems with authority were just the tip of the iceberg. Rob recognized the telltale signs of a past trauma, some black event that Jake never mentioned but was there every time he spoke of J&amp;R or Ravenwood.

Rob’s bet was that during his stint with Ravenwood, Jake had killed someone or caused someone’s death. And, knowing Ravenwood, they’d probably patted him on the head and sent him back out into the field. Which was fine for the typical Ravenwood merc, but not for someone with a moral center such as Jake’s.

If Johnston Green were still alive, Rob would get Jake home and make his sit down with his father to talk about the past week. Rob hadn’t the time to get to know the elder Green, but he’d found him to be a solid leader and a great strategist. He’d also had enough military training to know how to deal with the post-mission issues that would crop up as Jake came down from the stress high he’d been riding.

But, like so many good people, Johnston Green was gone.

And Rob felt it again, that hollow ache in his chest as he thought about all the men and women of Jericho that had died or lost a loved one as the result of John Smith’s insanity.

The crazy thing was, the death of Green had been a blow, not just because the town had lost a leader, but also because Rob had grown fond of him, plain and simple. Just as he’d grown fond of the people of the small town that he’d adopted.

It was still something he was getting used to—that somehow, when he wasn’t looking, Jericho had walked right into his heart and settled down. He was so far gone that just the thought of moving on left him almost forlorn. He hadn’t noticed it at the time, but it had been nice getting to know the people of Jericho, just as it had been nice finding someone like Jake, someone that he could count on, that he could share his horrible burden with. And, as much as he hated to admit it, it had felt good to belong somewhere.

Rob rolled to his back, grunting a little as his side throbbed. When he’d told Darcy that he’d learned a few things in the past months, how his perception had changed, it was no small revelation. And two days later, he was seeing how big a thing it was, how, sadly, it wasn’t quite the revelation he’d thought it was.

Like a lot of operatives, he’d lived a double life for so long, he wasn’t quite sure who he was anymore. Who was the true Robert Hawkins—the agent or the father and husband?

He wasn’t sure. It would be a flat-out lie to say that his family had never mattered, but balanced out against the duty he owed his country?

The country, the missions, had been everything for so long he couldn’t remember a time without them. He loved his children, but from a distance—he’d knowingly sacrificed their love to his job, and that had been acceptable, even necessary.

Sarah Mason had been a double-edged sword—he hadn’t needed Chavez’ warning to tell him that. Rob had thought at one point, early on, that it might be possible to love her. Darcy had filed for the restraining order, he couldn’t see his kids, and there were nights he was so damn lonely—

He and Sarah had a lot in common: she was trained as he was, she knew her weapons and equipment, as he did. And the sex was good, even fantastic. But something had held him back, some primal instinct that called for caution, and he’d never let himself take that last step.

Later, after they’d been working together for a couple years, Rob had discovered that Sarah had a side that didn’t match her beauty and he’d given up on any idea of love. She became, like the bombs they were tracking, just part of his job, and brutal honesty made him acknowledge that her betrayal would have cut deeper if he’d cared more than he did.

As for he and Darcy…

Darcy was the big question right now, one he knew he hadn’t even begun to really think about because she had been right, all those months ago—he _had _hated her when she made him leave and he wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

She’d had no choice, he knew that—he’d made sure of it. But there was a small part of him, some asinine voice that kept insisting she could’ve had a little more faith, that she could’ve stuck by him no matter how many times he pushed her away, no matter how many times he’d frightened her.

Which was ridiculous—no woman in her right mind would stand for that and he had no right to complain about it now, years later.

Only, the voice reminded him, he’d had no choice either, and if the same situation came up tomorrow, if his country needed him, he’d do the same exact thing. He supposed the best he could hope for that whatever _did _come tomorrow, it wouldn’t involve him, wouldn’t involve Jake, and they could get on the road, get back home.

Rob ran a hand over his face. Jericho, Darcy, Jake—for someone who’d ruthlessly avoided all deep emotional entanglements, he sure as hell had a lot of people involved in his life, now.

Cheung, if he were still alive, would be laughing his ass off.

A soft tap on the door startled Rob and he reached for the gun he didn’t have before remembering where he was. The door opened and a man leaned in—it was the medic Rob had argued with after surgery when he’d insisted on a shower and wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He’d gotten his shower, but the medic hadn’t been happy with him. Neither had the chief of staff when she’d been called in to make Rob see reason. She’d muttered something about the two of them, and said it was his funeral—the medic had just looked pissed.

He didn’t look any happier as he nodded and walked over to the machines on the other side of the bed. He tapped a few buttons, studied the results and entered something on the chart he was carrying.

“How am I doing?” Rob whispered. He didn’t really need an answer. He was more than familiar with trauma; the wound was, as he’d told Jake, not that bad.

“Good,” the man answered, not bothering to lower his voice. “You lost a lot of blood, so you can expect some weakness and dizziness. But,” he looked at Rob with a certain wariness in his eyes, “I’m told you probably know that.”

Rob narrowed his eyes. Someone had been talking, probably the EMTs that had brought them in. Jake wouldn’t have said anything; he’d never give up Rob’s secrets without a fight and probably not even then.

“How’s he?” Rob nodded to Jake. “Can you find him a bed?”

“Oh, we tried that,” the tech said louder, more than a little sarcastic, “he made such a fuss, we finally gave up.”

Rob cocked his head. “He’s been through a lot.”

“So people keep saying.” The tech made another notation and added without looking up, “Dr. Louden will be in to see you in a few minutes. She’ll let you know when you’ll be discharged.” Without another word, he left, pulling the door closed with a little too much force.

“He doesn’t like me.”

Rob turned. Jake was awake, just barely, smiling up with a glint in his eye. Rob smiled back. “Sounds like you gave him something to not like you about.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust them.” Jake stirred and grimaced as he straightened his legs.

“You have reason, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you go find a _real_ bed?”

Jake ignored him and turned on his side, his back to Rob, shifting until he got comfortable again. His shirt rode up some more and Rob could see where the bruises on his ribs skated around to meet a large bruise on his back.

Rob bit back an angry comment about the state he was in; it was too soon to talk about it. “You okay?”

Jake’s voice was muffled, “Yeah, they checked me out. I’m fine.”

“What about your wrists?”

“Fine.”

“Jake—”

Jake’s back tightened up. “Hawkins, I’m fine.”

“Okay, okay.” Rob raised a hand in surrender even though Jake couldn’t see it. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Good.”

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Jake twisted to look back. “For what?”

“For saving my life.”

Jake smiled, a singularly sweet smile, and said, “No problem.” He turned around and fell back asleep, just like that.

Rob stared at the nape of his neck for a long while, listened to the soft sounds he made as he slept, watched his back move with each breath. His hair was getting too long and it tangled and curled where it touched his shoulders.

Rob wanted to lean over and smooth Jake’s hair out. He wanted to push his scrubs up and run his palm over the bruised flesh in an effort to take away some of the pain. The urge was so great he reached before he could stop himself.

He clenched his jaw and brought his hand back, shoving it under his cheek, as if that would keep it where it belonged. A familiar heat was warming his belly and that was so not a good thing. The last time he’d felt anything like it was years ago, when he’d first met Sarah…

Jake was an attractive man. Rob would’ve had to be blind not to notice his face, the sleek lines of his body, the way he moved. Add to that a mind that was sharp and curious and kept Rob on his toes?

His race and sex was a non-issue—Rob had never been particular either way even though his past relationships with men had been for the job. The age difference? Yeah, maybe that would be a problem. If he ever took that step.

Which he wouldn’t, though Jake didn’t make it easy—he was a hands-on, no two-foot-personal-space kind of guy, something Rob noticed from the beginning. And he usually hated that, hated when people stood close enough to smell their breath or feel their heat.

But with Jake, the usual didn’t apply and he’d found himself paying too much attention to the way Jake would grab his shoulders or arms whenever they were close enough to touch. The way he’d watch Rob out of the corner of his eyes, tracking him across the room like hunter and prey.

It was odd but easily dismissed if not for the other thing, the feeling that when he’d first met Jake, there was such a sense of familiarity and recognition that he’d wanted to take step up close, take Jake’s hand and say, _‘There you are. Where’ve you been?’_

Five years ago, Rob wouldn’t have held back, wouldn’t have even tried. He would’ve found some opportunity to be alone with Jake to see what all that touching, all that staring, was about.

But, it wasn’t five years ago and this was not going to happen. Not when the country was on the brink of war, not when he was trying to figure out where he and Darcy stood with each other. The country and his family were all that mattered now, all that _could_ matter, now.

Rob tore his eyes away from the curve of Jake’s pale hip and focused on the ceiling. Louden would be here shortly and he needed to calm down. There was no way he’d be released in the morning if she came in, took a look at the heart monitor and decided he had some additional medical condition that needed investigating.

He closed his eyes and slipped into the simple mediation technique he used in stressful situations, concentrating on slowing down his noisy heart, on refocusing his attention. And it worked—he remembered why he was in a hospital bed, remembered what lay beyond tonight and that soon he and Jake would soon be on their way back home, back to where the real fight would begin.

 

——————————

 

It was almost two in the afternoon when Jake woke. He lay there for a moment with his eyes closed, wondering where the hell he was and why the hell his back was killing him.

A ring of metal on metal jerked him upright and he jumped, almost sliding out of the chair.

“Hey.” Hawkins bent over and helped him up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…” Jake trailed off and put his head in his hands, dizzy with the rush of blood to his head. “Shit.”

“Head rush?” Hawkins kept his hands on Jake’s shoulders, steadying him.

Jake grinned up at Hawkins. “Yeah.”

“You’ve been asleep for about twelve hours. You’ll probably be sleepy all day, now.”

Hawkins was mostly dressed, wearing clothes Jake hadn’t seen before. Clean jeans and a pale blue t-shirt—probably courtesy the Texas government. There was a lump at his side which could only be the bandage. Jake touched it and said, “Are you supposed to be up?”

Hawkins straightened and backed away. He reached for his shoulder harness and pulled it on, wincing as he fastened the buckle. “Don’t have a choice. We have a visitor.” He picked up his Glock and gave it a once-over.

Jake stood up carefully and stretched out the kinks. He was still dizzy, but for the first time in a long while he felt good, like the world wasn’t breathing down his neck, waiting for him to make the next wrong move. “Who?”

“Chavez.”

And the world came crashing back. “Oh.”

Hawkins paused and turned to Jake. “He got here a couple hours ago. You don’t have to come. I’d like it, but you probably need some more sleep. You did,” he smiled, “just save the world.”

“Hardly.”

“Yeah, well, it was still a big thing. You want to come?”

Jake nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.” He walked to the door and looked back at Hawkins. Who was standing by the bed, gun forgotten, grinning broadly. “What?”

“Jake, you might want to change.” Hawkins looked him up and down.

“What?” Jake looked down at the wrinkled blue scrubs. Heat flooded his cheeks. “I guess I’d better.”

“Here.” Hawkins threw him a shirt from a pile of clothes on the bed. “Not that you don’t look good in scrubs, but people are going to think you’re a doctor and next thing you know, you’ll be operating on some poor soul. ”

The _scrubs_ comment caught Jake by surprise and he flushed again. “Thanks, Hawkins,” he said, sarcastically, “we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Hawkins smiled and holstered his gun. “I sure wouldn’t. I’ll give you some privacy.” He walked to the door and paused. “We’ll be in the cafeteria. And Jake, you can call me Rob, you know.” He was gone before Jake could answer.

_Rob_ , thought Jake, as he pulled the scrubs off. There was no way he was going to be able to call Hawkins,  _Rob_ .

_Rob_ was too friendly, too intimate. Jake didn’t know what kind of relationship they had but it sure as hell wasn’t friendship. And as for intimacy…

He shrugged, uncomfortable at the thought, and finished changing.

***

Jake followed the nurse down the hall, still tugging at his borrowed t-shirt. He was grateful for the clothes but wished they could have found something more his size. Texans were supposed to be bigger than average, right? He felt ridiculous—his pants ended at the ankle and his shirt was too small. They really needed to stock a wider variety of men’s clothes in case they got more undercover operators on the run.

The thought made him snort and when he entered the dining room where Hawkins and Chavez were waiting, he was still smiling.

“Jake…” Hawkins waved Jake over and signaled to a man dressed in black, standing by a set of double doors. It was the security guard from the night before, Kevin. He nodded and left, and Hawkins pushed back the chair next to him with his foot. He’d already finished his meal; Chavez was still picking at his.

Jake looked around. They were alone in the small, windowless room and he wondered if that was normal or due to the nature of, well, everything. He hadn’t yet met any other patients and the staff was small—it looked like the five or six techs, the two doctors, and at least three security guards were the extent of it—not nearly enough to handle a large crisis. ‘_Ties to the Texan government,’_ Louden had said. Maybe she should have said, ‘Only _for the Texan government.’_

Before he could ask, Kevin brought coffee and a plate of eggs, bacon and toast, and all thoughts of odd hospitals and misfitting clothes vanished. Jake was suddenly so damn hungry—he tore into the food and almost moaned, it tasted so good.

“Someone here tells me you were pretty rough on the staff,” Chavez said, with a sideways grin to Hawkins.

Jake shrugged and kept eating. If they’d wanted him to talk they should never have given him food.

Hawkins chuckled. “Leave him alone, he’s done his part.”

Chavez raised his coffee cup to Jake then took a sip. Like Kevin the waiter slash security guard, he was dressed in black from head to foot. With his shaved head and bulldog attitude, he might as well be wearing a sign that said, _Black Ops Agent: stay back fifty feet. _“You two did good, and believe me, it’s been noticed. And,” Chavez jerked his head and Kevin vanished again. Here comes the bad news, Jake thought. “I wish I could tell you that it’s all over, but now that the package is in safe hands, it’s just begun. The bomb’s place of origin is being tracked as we speak, but we already know what we’ll find.”

Hawkins nodded and said to Jake, “Soviet Russia, with Smith orchestrating the attacks and Jennings &amp; Rall taking advantage.”

“The background is vague,” Hawkins continued with a frown, “but we’ve found they’ve been preparing for years, longer than we thought, longer than even Smith said. They used the paranoia created by the September attacks to form the ASA with Tomarchio as a figurehead. We’re not sure, as of today, how much the ASA knew of Smith’s plan beforehand, but one thing is sure, in order to publish those revisionist history books as quickly as they did, they had to have had some warning.”

Jake swallowed the last of his toast and took a long sip of coffee, then said, “So now we wait for Cheyenne to make their move?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Jake,” Hawkins said. “J&amp;R has connections in the Middle East, Russia, and some of the Baltic states. The major players, the ones closest to the U.S. geographically and politically have pledged their support along with our other allies. Those include China, Japan, Europe, and Canada. The countries we haven’t heard from, well, those are the ones we’re worrying about.”

He and Chavez exchanged grim looks and Jake sat up straighter. “Namely, Mexico, Central America and parts of South America. We haven’t been on the best of terms with any of them in the past few years and the Cheyenne government is closely tied with Mexico.”

“Wait a minute, you’re not worried that Mexico will invade, are you?”

“No. We’re worried that Cheyenne will broker a deal with Mexico and Central America. Right now, Cheyenne would be hard pressed to overthrow the U.S. on their own, even if they had overseas help. But, if they _do _make a deal, Jake, Mexico won’t _have_ to invade—they’ll be right here, and the geography of our country will change back to how it was hundreds of years ago.”

“You think the ASA will make a deal that would give up their sovereignty?” Jake shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

Hawkins leaned across the table and Jake found himself drawn forward, caught by Hawkins’ dark eyes. “Jake, J&amp;R have set up a government that’s more a corporation than anything else. As long as they have, in essence, over fifty percent share of the ASA, they’re not going to care about Mexico. And if they’re true to their corporate strategy, they’ll invite their new friends to dinner and when those new friends aren’t looking, they’ll quietly stab them in the back. They’ve already done it on a much smaller scale. They’re getting powerful enough to use a country as big as Mexico and then throw them away when they’re done with them.”

An unpleasant thrill ran up Jake’s spine. Hawkins’ words were stark and powerful and he could already see the chaos, the wide-scale death and destruction.

Hawkins nodded slowly. “And once they have Mexico, they’ll be looking farther south. Canada, at that point, wouldn’t have a chance, especially if the ASA’s friends in Russia have anything to do with it. Can you imagine J&amp;R owning all of the Americas? They’d be unstoppable.” He sighed heavily. “And we’d never be rid of them.”

He sat back, and Jake, released from his gaze, did the same. He ran his fingers through his hair—it was really hot in this small room—maybe he shouldn’t have had that coffee.

“But,” Hawkins conceded on a lighter tone, “that’s still a maybe. A very big maybe, but one we’re going to need to prepare for.”

“How do we do that?” Jake asked, almost to himself.

Hawkins turned his coffee cup around in a circle. “What’s happening right now is that our actions have forced J&amp;R’s hand. Once it’s made public that they’ve been lying about the attacks, they’re going to have to come out of hiding and show their true colors. They’ve already designated Tomarchio head of the so-called legitimate government, and unless they’re stopped, their next step will be to declare civil war. Getting the bomb away from them was the right thing to do, but now that we’ve got the evidence, they’re cornered and you know what they say about a cornered animal?”

“That they’re dangerous and unpredictable,” Jake answered softly.

“And, in this case, arrogant and reckless,” Chavez broke in with a glance at Hawkins. “Something that should come in handy.”

Hawkins nodded. “The next few weeks could go two ways: J&amp;R comes down hard on the remaining states within U.S. borders, or they leave us be. I believe it will be the latter, not the former simply because they feel they’re too large to mess with.”

“And I disagree,” Chavez said softly.

Hawkins made a face, and Jake shook his head, impatiently ignoring Chavez’ comment. “Yeah, but they know we have the bomb. And you said we could prove the provenance, prove that they’re behind the attacks.”

“We can, but it would be like preaching to the choir. The only people hearing the song would be _our _people.”

“I—”

Hawkins leaned forward again and said softly. “As of late last night, we’ve got new intel, more details as to what J&amp;R has been getting up to in the past few months and as far as more than half this country is concerned, the ASA _is _the legitimate government. End of story.”

Jake shook his head again. “There’s no way they’ve got half the country fooled. I mean, somebody’s got to have figured it out, right?”

Hawkins smiled grimly. “Remember, J&amp;R has been working on this for years. Cut all communications with the rest of the world and we might as well be in the pre-industrial age. Like China did back in 2007 when they started limiting public access to the internet. In our case it’s not a complete shutdown, but last year J&amp;R took control of the major communication systems in all the major cities in the ASA. And _then_ they cut ties with the systems in the U.S., so it might as well be.”

Jake let that sink in. If possible the whole situation seemed more insane than it had three days ago, and that was when he was tied up in Beck’s basement, delusional, wondering when he was going to give in and tell Beck what he wanted to know. “So what do we do?”

Hawkins sat back and smiled softly at Chavez as if to say, ‘_I told you so.’ _“That’s what we need to discuss. I was in touch with Major Beck this morning and things have taken another interesting turn. The Major informally resigned his commission and his men have followed suit.”

“What?” Jake asked, stunned.

Hawkins nodded. “Like I said, it’s been interesting—apparently someone managed to open his eyes.”

He shook his head and Jake wondered if it had been Heather—Beck had taken more than a little interest in her, Jake had seen if for himself, and she had a way about her—she’d probably set him down and given him a piece of her mind.

He snorted at the image of little Heather standing up to Beck and Hawkins looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Jake shrugged _no comment_, and Hawkins went on, “In any case, we had a little talk. I gave him the bare bones of went down in Cheyenne and Texas. I convinced him not to inform the ASA of his insurrection. They’ll know soon enough, but Jericho is too close to Cheyenne, and Beck has only the one platoon of forty-five. Not enough to hold off their former teammates without putting themselves and the entire town in considerable danger. He has some ideas on how to obtain reinforcements. He’s going to try to contact his commander, a Colonel Hoffman.”

Jake had heard that name before. “Hoffman—wasn’t he the guy that found Heather, up in Nebraska?”

Hawkins shook his head. “I have no idea, but it’s a risky move. If Beck isn’t successful in convincing Hoffman, he’ll have to kill him. And any of Hoffman’s men that happen to be involved. But, he says it’s an acceptable risk, says that Hoffman is true to the country and has been unhappy with the close relationship between the ASA and J&amp;R. I guess we’ll see.”

“And then there’s Smith,” Chavez said.

Hawkins smiled bitterly. “And then there’s Smith.”

“What about him?” Jake leaned forward.

“He’s gone missing. We thought he’d head for a hospital—”

“What? He would,” Jake interrupted. “I got him a couple times, I know it.”

Chavez shook his head. “Yeah, well, we’re looking into it. I called all the hospitals within a mile radius, just to see if a man with a gunshot wound to the shoulder showed up, but no luck.”

“What about a police report or something like that?”

“Yeah,” Chavez nodded, “I hacked into the local network, same thing.”

“Damnit,” Jake muttered as he slumped back in his seat. He should’ve followed Smith, just to be sure. But there hadn’t been time—Hawkins had been shot and there was blood all over the place, not to mention the nuke…

“Hey,” Hawkins leaned over and gripped Jake’s shoulder, saying firmly, “It’s not your fault, Jake. You know that, right? You did what you needed to do.”

Jake cracked a smile of thanks and then they were all quiet for a long moment. Kevin was back at his wall, only further away and Jake wondered what he thought of all this, having to wait on three beat-up men that didn’t look like they had a dime between them.

“So,” Hawkins finally said, “the U.S. has to decide, and decide quickly, what course of action to take. And that means getting this intel to the people who need it.”

“And now that you’re not taking it easy,“ Chavez cuffed Hawkins’ arm, “we can get back to work.”

Hawkins ducked his head, grinning up Chavez, and for no good reason a spark of anger warmed Jake’s gut. He shifted in his chair and looked down at the table, watching his own hand grip his fork while he waited for Hawkins’ reply.

A reply that was lost as Chavez’ phone rang. He picked it up and read the display, then typed in a short message and set the phone down again. “Just thought you might like to know, that was Cheung.”

“No shit.” Hawkins and Jake exchanged wide-eyed looks—it was the first time Jake had ever seen him truly surprised.

“Thought I’d keep it a surprise—don’t ever say I didn’t get you a birthday present.” Chavez grinned into his coffee. “But, yeah, that bastard is hard to kill. He was wearing his vest, but he took a bullet in the neck. Someone from the hospital got to him before he bled out. It was touch and go, _and _he managed not to break his cover. They released him a few hours ago. But—”

Hawkins interrupted with a short nod. “He’ll be out of commission for a while. Still,” he ran his hand over his jaw and said, “it’s good news. Great news. We would’ve had a hard time finding someone to fill his shoes. And it doesn’t mean the plan’s changed; if anything, we now have a better chance making sure the ASA’s taken down. Cheung was embedded in Cheyenne long enough that his insight into their operations will be invaluable. Call him up and see how soon he can get to Columbus.”

“Already did that. He’s on his way here. He thought it’d be safer than going to Columbus, but it’ll take him a few days.”

Hawkins nodded and turned to Jake. His blank expression told Jake he wasn’t going like what was coming. “Jake, this is too important for normal communications. Chavez and I are flying out to Columbus in about,” he looked at his watch, “three hours. You’re going back to Jericho—”

Jake was already shaking his head. “No way. I’m going—”

Hawkins held up his hand. “No. You’re not.“ Chavez looked away, and that only sharpened Jake’s anger.

“Hawkins, _Rob,_” Jake leaned over grabbed Hawkins’ arm. “I’m going with you. You said we were in this together and I need to see this through. Besides, you don’t get to tell me what to do.” He was talking too fast and holding too hard but he was damned if he was going to be treated like a child that was in the way.

Hawkins put his hand on Jake’s, matching his grip. “Jake,” he said gently, “I’m not telling you what to do. If you want, you can stay here in San Antonio. But you’re not coming with us. Mostly, because we don’t have time to get the security clearances you’d need. We’re going in and out.”

He squeezed Jake’s hand even harder. “But also, I’m hoping you’ll head back home. They need you. Jericho is in a dangerous situation, Jake. Once the town’s rebellion is discovered, once Beck is found out, Cheyenne is going to be at our doorstep, never mind civil war. We need every available man there, especially you. The people trust you, they’ll follow you.

“Besides,” Hawkins added, and his hand no longer gripped but lay on Jake’s, firm and warm, “I was going to ask if you could check on my family, make sure they’re all right.”

Jake took a deep breath and nodded once. He sat back and Hawkins let go. “Yeah, okay.” The back of his hand was hot from Hawkins’ touch and he was dizzy again, like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“We’ll be home before you know it. Hell, we might even beat you there.” He gave Jake a smile and Jake tried to return it. It was a weak effort, but it must have satisfied Hawkins because he sat back and poured another cup of coffee.

He felt a weight and looked up. Chavez was staring at him with a narrow-eyed, speculative gaze that sharpened when Jake met his eyes. Jake returned his stare, challenge for challenge, wondering what was going on inside Chavez’ head because he looked as if Jake was going to spontaneously combust. Or maybe announce he was a triple agent, out to get the remainder of the U.S. government.

Hawkins glanced between them, and broke the stalemate by gulping down the rest of his coffee and standing up, saying, “C’mon.”

“You all packed?” Chavez asked.

Hawkins nodded. “Pretty much, just got to get a few things from the room and the meds they’re insisting I take. I’ll meet you in five.”

“I’ll come with you.” Chavez stood up. “Jake, be seeing you.” He nodded in a friendly manner, but the something in his eyes that Jake didn’t like was still there. Cheung’d had the same look. Like he and Hawkins were part of an exclusive group and Jake was just an outsider at best, a danger at worst. Normally, Jake didn’t mind it—he was used to being an outsider—now, it just pissed him off.

“I’ll see you out front.” Hawkins touched Jake’s shoulder as he walked past.

Jake sat there for a few minutes. His back and wrists were hurting again. He should probably find some aspirin and lay down for a while—he didn’t have much else to do, it seemed.

“Sir?” Kevin was hovering at his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m done.” Jake smiled tightly and stood up. “I need to make a phone call. Is there…” He gestured towards the door.

“I’m sorry, but the lines are down again. We’ve been having problems all month.”

He actually _did _look sorry, and Jake’s smile relaxed. In a bizarre way, it was comforting to know that Jericho wasn’t the only town with on-going problems. “That’s okay, I can use my cell.”

“You might want to use the north courtyard. The reception should be better.”

“Thanks.” Jake wondered vaguely about a tip, and then remembered that he didn’t have any cash and who knew what kind of currency they used in Texas, anyway. He nodded and left.

He was on his way to find the north courtyard when he stopped suddenly—he didn’t have his cell—he’d left it back in Jericho. That meant he’d need to borrow Hawkins’ or Chavez’, which considering everything that had just happened, was the last thing he wanted to do. But screw it, he needed to call his mom and let her know he was okay.

He was outside the room with his fingers on the door handle when he heard something that made him freeze in his tracks. He leaned in.

“…and here I thought you were just caring and sharing,” Hawkins was saying. His voice was muffled, but Jake could tell he was laughing.

“I’m serious, Hawkins.” Chavez’ voice was hard, insistent. “How much do you know about him?”

“Enough to know that he’s got my back.”

There was a pause, then Chavez said, “Remember what I said about Sarah Mason?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Is Jake going to be another Sarah?”

There was a longer pause, then Hawkins said slowly, “Watch it Chavez.”

“No, _you_ watch it Hawkins. I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’ve seen the way he looks at _you_. He was practically all over you, back in the cafeteria. This is too important to screw up just because you can’t keep it in your—”

Something hit the wall, hard, and a painting next to Jake rocked on its hook—he jumped back as if he’d been stung.

Hawkins’ voice was low, deadly, and clear enough that it sounded as if he was speaking right in Jake’s ear. “You need to remember where you are. You need to remember what it is I’ve done for you, what it is I’ve done for my _country.”_

A shiver ran down Jake’s back, but he stepped closer until he was almostpressed against the door.

“Hawkins,” Chavez sounded like he was being strangled. “Sorry. I stepped over the line. I—” His voice trailed off with a gasp.

There was another long pause and when Hawkins spoke, it was from across the room and Jake couldn’t hear anymore—his heart was pounding and it drowned out any other sound. As quiet as he could, he backed away and hurried down the hall, cell phone forgotten.

It didn’t take a genius to know what they were talking about and just the thought…

Heat bloomed in his belly and he walked faster. He had to get outside, even if it was just to wherever the north courtyard was. He hurried to the reception desk and leaned over the countertop. “Excuse me?” he asked, hating the agitation in his voice.

The receptionist frowned. “Yes?”

“Can you tell me where the north courtyard is?”

She hesitantly pointed in the opposite direction and Jake nodded his thanks and left before she could ask any questions.

The doors were on the far end of the corridor and he burst through them, finding himself in a large square shaded with tall trees. It was already hot, and he stopped in the shadows of an oak and ran his fingers through his hair, gripping his skull, tight.

_Fuck—_

There were a lot of things in his life that he didn’t like to recall, things he’d boxed up and labeled and shoved so far back in his memory, they might as well have never happened at all.

The time his father caught him shoplifting from Gracie Leigh and made him tell the entire town about it, the months before he left for Embry-Riddle when he and his father fought viciously almost every day, the night his parents found out about Mitch, the night Chris died—they were all memories of varying pain and shame, but there was one that beat them all…

He’d always blamed it on the tequila, on homesickness because Saffa was about as far from Jericho as you could get. On the in-and-out that had begun as business as usual and ended up with a village market destroyed and four dead Iraqi civilians, including one young girl…

When they got back to camp, his teammates were still reacting, still shouting out about their brush with danger. Not taking ‘no’ for an answer, they’d dragged Jake off to the company bar. And Jake, ignoring good sense, proceeded to get drunk, downing shot after shot as reality began to set in.

So drunk that the night was forever to remain as a set of flash points, like a movie that kept skipping frames:

Leaning against the bar, only half listening as Freddy motored on about what he was going to do with his money when he got back home…

Catching the eye of a merc from another unit, a man who looked a little like Mitch except he was probably Mexican and didn’t have such mean eyes…

Trying to avoid the guy’s glance, only to keep coming back again and again because the newborn shame was growing, strong and thick and rotten and he wanted a distraction, even if it wasn’t safe…

Leaving the bar because he couldn’t stand it anymore, the feeling that he was going to do something unbelievably stupid like cry or shut up Freddy with his fists…

The merc caught up with him outside the commissary and with just a tiny jerk of his chin, he led Jake to an empty tent and pushed him down on a cot, attacking him with his mouth, whispering his name, Mark somebody or other, frantic, like he was starving—

Whenever Jake remembered—whenever he could _bear _to remember—that’s what he consoled himself with: that it hadn’t been just him, that Mark had been just as hungry, just as out of control.

The next day when he’d woken up in his own tent with a hangover the size of Texas, his first thought was, _If dad finds out, it’ll kill him._

So he buried the memories, quick and deep, and tried like hell to avoid the other Ravenwood units. But in the end it didn’t matter—Mark died two days later in an ambush outside of Saffa and that was that.

Afterwards, he never could bring himself to find out anything about Mark. What he knew, the things he’d learned, he kept to himself. Things like the way Mark had whispered gently, _‘It’s okay, shh…’ _when Jake came from just the touch of his hand, or the way he tried not to hold Jake’s head too hard when Jake went down on him.

The two-year old memory resurfaced, still powerful, and sank its teeth into Jake’s gut and he pulled on his hair and turned in a circle, wanting to get away from it, knowing he couldn’t.

He knew why this one memory above all hounded him, but knowing that the night with Mark was forever tied with the death of the little Iraqi girl didn’t make it any better, didn’t lessen the guilt, the shame…

He finally dropped his arms and looked around. He found a bench under another tree and practically fell on it. He stared dumbly at his hands. _‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you—’_

He felt numb, blank, like his brain had shut down and was operating at one percent capacity. Maybe it had; maybe this was what crazy felt like; maybe—

“Jake?”

He whipped around to find Hawkins a few feet behind him. He was geared up for leaving, carrying a laptop case and a duffle bag. Jake opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

“You all right?” Hawkins hesitated, then dropped his bags and stepped closer. He held out his hand, palm out, like he was approaching a dog that might be rabid or hurt. “The nurse said you came this way.”

Jake forced a laugh. His throat was dry and tight. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just, you know… Kind of tired.”

Hawkins’ smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You sure?”

He turned back to his hands. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Hawkins circled around until he was right in front of Jake. He stood there a moment, then crouched, balancing on the balls of his feet. “We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

Jake nodded. “That’s good. I’ll make sure your family is okay.” If he kept his eyes on his hands, really focused on them, he could block out the last fifteen minutes, block out the overheard words, block out their meaning. Block out the way Hawkins was crouched right in front of him, just like he had a few days ago when he’d asked for help in retrieving the bomb he’d lost.

“I got a car for you. I couldn’t get it for tonight, so you’re leaving tomorrow, maybe the next day. I tried for a plane, but I couldn’t get approval for the fuel.”

Jake nodded.

“You’ll have back-up and I’ve packed supplies for a week, just in case.”

He crossed his arms against his chest, tight, and nodded again.

“Jake, what’s wrong?”

Hawkins’ voice was low, soft, and it tore at the wall he was desperately trying to build. He shook his head and a silent litany began in his head: _Just go, just go, just get the hell out…_

“Something happened.” Hawkins laid his hand on Jake's knee. “What is it?”

The question didn’t even make sense, because the only thing that _did_ was the way the warmth of Hawkins’ fingers seeped through his borrowed jeans, the way he smelled of soap and leather when he leaned in close. His fingers, Jake realized, were long and slim, perfect for so many things…

A crazy impulse rose: all he’d have to do was spread his thighs, grab Hawkins’ shoulders and pull. It would be so easy…

He leaned back and clutched his elbows in an effort to keep from reaching out and he was scrambling for the words that would diffuse the situation, that would make Hawkins get up and leave, when the courtyard door opened and someone shouted, “Hawkins!”It was Chavez, leaning out.

Saved by the grunt, Jake thought sourly.

Tightening his lips, Hawkins shouted back without looking over his shoulder, “I’m coming! Give me a minute!”

Chavez scowled, but he left them alone.

The interruption, brief as it was, gave Jake time to regroup and he was able to relax his arms and sit up straight. He looked Hawkins in the eye and said “I’m fine. I think it’s just delayed stress or something.” The lie loosened the fist in his chest and he could breath again, could think again.

“Okay,” Hawkins said, slowly. “Okay.” He hesitated, then picked up his bags and stood up. “I know you left your cell in Jericho. I got you a new one—it’s in the room. It’s got a better range than your old one and has some added security features. I’ve stored a few numbers in it. One is Darcy’s, the other two are mine. If I can’t be reached at one, try the other.” He paused, then said softly, “Jake—”

He interrupted, “I’m fine.” He felt like a broken record. “I’ll call when I get to Jericho. I hope the thing in Columbus goes well. C’mon.” He stood up, brushed by Hawkins, and made his way back into the building.

They walked in silence down the hallway to the entrance, Jake in front, Hawkins close behind.

Chavez was leaning over the reception desk, talking to the nurse, making her laugh and blush. He picked up his bags when he saw them coming and was out the front doors without another word or glance at Jake. And he was glad of it, glad not to have to make small talk, not after what he’d heard.

Hawkins nodded to the nurse and went outside. Jake hesitated, then followed. The sun was bright and he had to shield his eyes to see. At the curb a generic black SUV was waiting and through the car’s tinted windows, he could see a shadowy figure at the wheel. Chavez tossed his gear in the cargo hold and got in front.

Putting on his best poker face, he waited until Hawkins turned back to look at him, then held out his hand. Hawkins took it slowly. He held on for a long moment, staring with his head cocked. He opened his mouth then closed it and let go. He put on a pair of sunglasses, gave Jake another worried smile and got in the back.

Not wanting to be seen waving them off like an idiot, he went back inside. The nurse was still red and smiling at nothing; Chavez was a real charmer.

With nothing else to do, he went to his room and found his clothes washed, folded, and stacked neatly in the center of the bed. On top was a small black cell phone—he picked it up. It was smaller than his own and had a rubber and metal casing around the entire body. On the back was a post-it with series of numbers and next to those, the words, ‘_Security code.’_ He opened it up and dialed his mom’s number. There was no response, not even from the answering machine and he hung up—he’d try again later. He tossed it on the table next to the bed and changed clothes. It felt good to be back in his own things, things that were truly his.

Still at loose ends, still feeling off-center and blank, he wandered around the small room for a minute, touching the equipment scattered here and there. He was thinking about trying his mom again when he was surprised by a big yawn. It looked like Hawkins was right— he was as tired as if he hadn’t just gotten up. And that was probably not a good thing, that Hawkins knew him well enough to predict his reactions so completely. Or maybe that had been a general diagnosis after all those years with the CIA.

He looked at the chair he’d slept in the night before and said a mental, _no way. _He took off his boots and lay down on the bed. He didn’t bother with the covers—he turned on his side and hugged the pillow close. It smelled good, he thought fuzzily.

He was almost asleep when the cell rang. He fumbled for it and opened it up to read: _‘message: rh-p’_ which he figured meant, _robert hawkins, private _or maybe _personal. _He thumbed in the security code and brought the phone to his ear, almost dreading what he’d hear.

_“Hey. Jake.”_ Hawkins’ voice was rough and so low it was almost a whisper. In the background, he could hear music and Chavez going on about something.  _“I just wanted to… Listen, I’m not sure what’s wrong, but I think I can guess. I just wanted to say, take care of yourself, all right? Get some sleep and have a couple good meals. And don’t try to run ’cause I _ will _ find you.”_ There was a pause, and then,  _“That was supposed to be a joke. Pretty bad, huh?”_

There was another pause, this time long enough that he thought Hawkins had finished talking and forgotten to hang up, then he heard a very quiet, _“I think the problem is you overheard something you weren’t supposed to hear, and I didn’t— Look, never mind that now; we’ll talk, later. Take care of yourself, okay?” _And then nothing. The tinny digital voice announced that he could save, forward or delete the message. He saved it without really thinking about it and tossed the phone on the table again.

He was still tired, still exhausted, but a new warmth curled through his chest. It wasn’t the anger he’d felt earlier, it was something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—not since he’d first met Emily when she was still a Prowse, not a Sullivan… 

The thought jerked him back from the edge of sleep and he remembered that he hadn’t yet called Emily, hadn’t even thought about it. And that he’d just compared what he felt for Emily with what he felt for Hawkins.

He turned over to stare blindly at the ceiling, thinking about what that meant until he finally closed his eyes, too tired to do anything else.

 

——————————

 

Rob watched the blur of buildings fly by as he looked out the window, ignoring the chatter between the Chavez and the driver. He could feel the glances that Chavez threw him every few miles, but he ignored those as well. Chavez would ask eventually, and until then, Rob would just enjoy the relative luxury of nothing to do.

Which lasted about fifteen minutes—they were halfway to the airport when Chavez turned around. “You gonna to stay silent this whole ride?”

Rob shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh, please. You’re the gabbiest person I know. I couldn’t shut you up in Basra—I almost had to duct tape your mouth closed because you were going to get us both killed.”

“That was special circumstances,” Rob said with a pointed look, reminding Chavez who it was that got them out.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Chavez muttered sarcastically and turned back around. He didn’t say anything more, but Rob knew what he wanted to ask—what he was _itching_ to know—he couldn’t, not in front of the driver.

Because for all his flippant attitude, Chavez would never jeopardize a mission just to satisfy his insatiable curiosity, even if what he wanted to know had nothing to do with the mission, per se. That kind of control was something Rob had learned to appreciate over the years. The curiosity thing, though, still drove him nuts.

When they got to the airport they stopped inside a small hanger nestled in the middle of other, larger hangers. Rob leaned out the window to look out and around. Armed guards walked the perimeters of the surrounding hangers, and up above, on the adjacent roofs, Rob spotted at least two snipers.

He sighed in relief and got out of the SUV—Texas wasn’t taking any chances, something for which he was extremely thankful. He was pretty damn tired of the running he’d been doing, always looking over his shoulder, always expecting a bullet in the back of his head.

That, of course, didn’t stop him from scanning the hanger’s interior, noting all the exits and points of cover. Some things you just couldn’t change.

Chavez occupied himself with his usual once over, examining the plane, making sure no one had tampered with any of the safety systems or managed to stick a bomb in a vulnerable spot. He was extremely paranoid and that was another thing Rob had learned to appreciate over the years—Chavez’ paranoia had saved his life more than once.

Rob touched the nearest wing and took a look the plane Todd had requisitioned. It was an older version of the one they’d arrived in. This model, he was glad to see, had been retrofitted to carry a glass cockpit and had a new antenna array. He would have preferred more firepower and speed, but Todd didn’t want to tip their hand in case the ASA was watching.

The one thing Rob had insisted on was an experienced pilot, someone who had seen a significant amount of action. As he explained to Chavez, if he couldn’t have Jake, he wanted the next best thing. Chavez had just rolled his eyes and given Rob that same look he’d been giving him all day.

“Sir?”

Rob turned around. A man in a jumpsuit that could only be the pilot jogged up from the back of the hanger, trailed by a few mechanics.

“Afternoon, sir.” The man glanced briefly at Chavez, still under the fuselage, but didn’t object to the scrutiny. He had no rank insignia but had the look of either Special Ops or Airborne: hard-eyed, tight-lipped. He presented his credentials to Rob and said, “Major Henderson, sir.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Rob said absently. The paper briefly noted that Ronald Henderson, major, was to escort two unnamed U.S. citizens to Columbus. It was signed _Todd, Governor, Independent State of Texas._

“Likewise, sir.”

“Ready for some fun, major?” Chavez had come up beside Hawkins and was staring, stony-faced, at Henderson.

“Always, sir.”

Rob smiled. “Chavez is just playing with you, major. We’re grateful for your assistance. Do you need anything from us?”

“No sir, I’ve been briefed. Due east, then northeast until we get over friendly territory, then straight north. With that route, it should take about three hours. And,“ Henderson’s stance relaxed a fraction and he glanced between Rob and Chavez, “I know this goes beyond protocol, but may I say I’m honored to meet you? I don’t know the specifics, but some of us have heard a bit about what you two did.”

Chavez jumped in before Rob could speak, “Ah, I didn’t do much. I was just on the receiving end. All the heroics were done by Hawkins and his _real _partner.”

Rob tightened his lips.

“Still,” Henderson shrugged, “I want to thank you for what you’ve done.”

“It’s appreciated, major,” Rob said. “C’mon.” He shouldered his bag and shoved Chavez towards the plane, wanting to get him on board before he said anything else.

The interior, like the exterior, had also been reconfigured—the usual rows of small seats were replaced with four rows of large seats and in the back, a couple tables for business meetings. Rob had no intention of doing any business but he was going to take advantage of the legroom. He picked an aisle seat, and dropped his bags on the seat next to him, then sat down with a sigh.

Chavez prowled around the tiny plane, looking here and there.

“Everything okay,” Rob called out.

“Yeah, fine, just making sure.” He finally came back and stowed his pack away in the overhead compartment and sat down across from Rob.

The speakers crackled and Henderson announced, “We’ll be taking off in a few minutes, gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts.”

Rob followed orders and didn’t bother not wincing when the strap pulled on his wound. His meds were in his bag, not a foot away, but he’d hold off until they got high over Mississippi. He knew it was crazy, but he wanted to stay alert until they were safe on the blue side of the country.

“Still hurt?” Chavez picked up a dog-eared magazine and began to leaf through it.

Rob let his silence do the answering and Chavez grinned at the pages.

The engines hummed then whined as the plane powered up. He could feel that faint, almost subdural vibration that never failed to set his teeth on edge—he readjusted his seat belt and tried to relax.

Chavez tossed the magazine down and said, “I know you’re not going to pay attention to me, but you should sleep.”

“I will when we’re clear. Besides,” Rob turned to look at him, “I know you’re dying to ask.”

“You made it crystal clear back at the hospital that it was none of my business. My throat,” he massaged his neck in mock pain, “thanks you for it.”

The engines changed pitch and whined higher and louder. He leaned closer to make himself heard without shouting. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Chavez.”

“Huh-uh.”

He sighed impatiently and insisted, “It really isn’t.” He looked around for a pillow, finally finding one under his seat.

The plane began to move and they taxied out of the hanger and Rob looked out the window, half expecting the worst. But there were no chasing sirens or flashing lights, no snipers aiming from the rooftops. He sat back and stuffed the pillow behind his head, taking a deep breath, then another, as the tension began to finally drain away.

Henderson made quick work of the runway—within minutes they were airborne as the little plane strained to gain altitude. And the engine noise leveled off.

Chavez propped his elbow on the armrest and said, as if they’d never been interrupted, “All I know is that when you told him he couldn’t come he looked like you just kicked him. Or drowned his puppy.” His smirk didn’t reach his blue eyes.

“Jake’s just like that,” He shrugged. “He’s got a lot of pride and he doesn’t like being left behind. And, he’s always leaping before he looks. If he’d had time to think about it, he wouldn’t have wanted to go in the first place.”

“Bullshit. Like I said, I saw the way you were looking at him, when he wasn’t looking at you the same way.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Yeah, it does.”

He sighed. “Chavez—”

Chavez held up a hand. “Don’t, Rob.”

He turned his head in surprise. He’d known Chavez for longer than he cared to remember. They’d fought together, almost died together. Chavez had been there when he’d first met Darcy, had been there when the marriage had started to come apart at the seams. And when he took up with Sarah. But they hardly ever used first names.

He preferred it that way; it kept things simple. The pain of losing an associate wasn’t so great if you maintained a certain distance.

Chavez leaned forward. “You _were_ right. It _is_ none of my business. But I gotta ask if you know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get back together with your wife, right?”

Rob said nothing.

“And now you’ve got this kid looking at you like he’s been living on a desert island and you’re the last cold beer on the planet.”

“He’s hardly a ‘kid,’ Chavez. He just turned thirty-three,” Rob said stiffly.

“It’s interesting that you know that little fact, but you haven’t answered my question.”

He shook his head and stared out the window, not really seeing the blue sky, the white clouds. He was hardly ever at a loss for words, but he couldn’t answer Chavez because he honestly didn’t know what was going on in his own head.

It could be his own version of PTSD or it could be that post-mission high he always got, when he either wanted to fuck or sleep, usually both together. There was one other possibility and it was something he didn’t want to think about: that it might be neither, that he was simply, and surely, falling for Jake Green.

He frowned—he shouldn’t have left that message on Jake’s cell. He’d told himself that very thing, even as he was dialing, even as he was talking. It was stupid, especially since he _knew _Jake had overheard the argument with Chavez. That look of frozen panic had said everything and four hours later, Rob still wanted to reach out and grab Jake, to shake him, to gather him close. To say that it was going to be all right and that it didn’t mean anything, not really.

And the crazy thing, the telling thing, was that even though he’d given away his hand, he wouldn’t take the message back, even if he could.

Finally, because Chavez was still waiting for an answer and he’d wait forever because he was like that, Rob turned and said, “I don’t know what to tell you. I like Jake. It’s as simple as that. I like talking to him. I like listening to him. He’s an honest man and I trust him. Besides,” he adjusted his pillow, “Jake and Emily have a thing.” That was beside the point and something he wasn’t really sure about, but he’duse anything to throw Chavez off the scent.

“Emily? Can’t say as I remember her.”

“Tall, blond, schoolteacher?”

“Oh, yeah… Well, can you blame him?”

Rob shook his head and said, shortly, “No.” He reached for his bag and got out the painkillers. They weren’t yet to Mississippi, but his wound was starting to throb and he had a headache. He dry-swallowed three white pills and tossed the bottle on the seat next to him.

Chavez watched him in silence, then glanced out Rob’s window. “It’s too bad,” he said, absently.

“What’s too bad?”

Chavez shrugged, then grinned and sat back in his seat. “Nothing. Nothing is too bad.”

Rob gave Chavez a dirty look. He knew that tone. It meant that Chavez had decided not to talk and nothing Rob could say or do would make him.

Chavez grinned again as if he knew what Rob was thinking. He reclined the seat and closed his eyes, murmuring, “I wonder how your boy is going to get along with Cheung.”

Wanting to fire back, _He’s not my boy,_ Rob settled for a dry, “It doesn’t bear thinking about.” He turned away and pretended to sleep.

 

———————————

 

“Mom?” Jake shifted the phone to his other ear and hopped on one leg, trying to pull on his jeans and talk at the same time. With one thing and another, he’d slept almost twenty-four hours straight and now he had to hurry.

“Jake? Jake!” His mom’s voice was hoarse, as if she’d been crying or shouting. “Where are you, honey? I’ve been going out of my mind—”

“I know, mom, I know.” Jake tripped on the chair and righted himself at the last minute. “I’m in Texas. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. Things have been pretty crazy.”

“Texas? How—? No, never mind, as long as you’re okay. We’ve been hearing such wild stories. Bill said he overheard Major Beck tell Heather that you were shot.”

“No, mom, I’m fine. You shouldn’t listen to Bill—you know how he is.”

“You’re right. Your father always said—” She stopped abruptly, and then said quietly, “You’re sure you’re fine?”

He smiled and gave up on the jeans. He sat down in the chair, one leg covered, the other still bare. He rubbed a dark bruise on his thigh and said,“Yeah, I can’t tell you everything right now, but I wanted to let you know I’m okay and I’ll be home soon.”

“When?”

“Probably in two days, maybe three.”

“How are you getting here?”

“By car.”

“Jake—”

“It’s fine, mom, I’ll be all right—I’m not driving alone.”

“Well, you tell Mr. Hawkins to watch out. It’s still very dangerous out there.”

Jake frowned but didn’t correct her—the truth was too convoluted and would only lead to a lot more questions that he didn’t have time to answer. “We’ll be fine.”

“Jake, remember…” His mom laughed and said, “I almost said to remember that it’s Saturday night and to make sure you fill up because the gas station will be closed tomorrow. As if there’s any gas there anymore.”

Nostalgia for his old Jericho hit and Jake felt almost physically sick. So much had changed—for the town, for his family, for himself.

“Mom,” he switched the phone to his other ear, “I never got a chance to tell you—” He broke off, the words stuck in his throat. How to tell her that when he’d been at his weakest, out at that hog farm, she’d given him the strength to hold on. That most mothers would have begged, even ordered, their sons to give in, even though they knew they were wrong to ask. His dad had always said that Gail Green was the strong one in the family and if Jake hadn’t known it before, he did now.

“I know, honey,” She sounded like she was crying again. “You’ve been through a lot. When you get here, we’ll talk. If you want. And don’t worry about me. We’re fine and things are getting better every day.”

He rubbed his eyes and nodded, “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you soon, Mom. I’ll call when I can.” He hung up without waiting for her goodbye.

He sat there for a long moment. The blank feeling had returned, like a dead spot in his heart, in his mind. He knew what she’d meant by _‘talk’. _He knew he needed to get it all out, that his brief, half-confession to his father had done little to clear out the old wounds, but discussing the past few months, the past few days, was the last thing he wanted.

He was just getting up when the door swung open and Cheung stood there. “You ready to go?” He wore a turtleneck to hide his bandaged throat and his skin was pale and drawn. But for all his seemingly fragile state, he hadn’t lost that air of sullen superiority. He looked Jake up and down and Jake could almost hear his sneering, unspoken sigh at having to travel with such a hick.

“Yeah, almost,” Jake said belligerently, then stood and pulled on his jeans, refusing to turn away under Cheung’s raised eyebrow—he was still angry and he didn’t care who knew it.

To say that he’d been surprised when he found out who was traveling with him to Jericho would’ve been an understatement. Shock and anger didn’t begin cover his range of emotions. It was more like dismay, fury, and flat-out disbelief.

Hawkins _knew_ that Cheung distrusted and disliked Jake, so it was safe to assume he had nothing to do with the arrangement. It must have been Chavez. And he was in Columbus by now, laughing himself sick about it, the bastard.

Well, screw Chavez and screw Cheung, Jake thought as he stuffed his borrowed gun into its borrowed holster. He may be the butt of a stupid joke, but that didn’t mean he had to sit there and take it. He pulled on his jacket, as slowly as he could.

Cheung twisted his lips and turned away, saying without glancing back, “I’ll be in the car.”

Jake scowled and looked around the room, mostly to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind, but partly to make Cheung wait that much longer. There was nothing he’d left, and he picked up the backpack one of the techs had loaned him. It didn’t hold much—a couple shirts, socks, and an extra jacket, all courtesy of the Texas government.

At the reception desk, the night nurse was on duty. He was the one that he'd given a hard time when they first got there, two days ago now. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He nodded as he passed the desk, but the nurse held up his hand.

“Sir? Someone needs to speak to you.”

“Who?” Jake looked around and then turned when a voice called out, “Sheriff Green?”

A woman in a black suit stood at the door of a small conference room that he hadn’t noticed before. She was flanked by what was clearly a security detail and behind her, inside the room, stood Louden and another doctor, watching.

At his puzzled frown, the woman came forward and held out her hand. She was maybe fifty-five or sixty, polished and poised, with sharp brown eyes. “Sheriff Green, I’m Governor Todd. I’m acting as president of the Independent Sovereign State of Texas while we try to clear up this whole mess.”

Before Todd had finished, Jake was holding out his hand. “Yes, ma’am. I know who you are.” They shook briefly and he smiled. “I guess I have you to thank for the F-15s that saved my—” He was going to say, _‘saved my ass,’ _but he caught himself just in time. His father would roll in his grave if he were ever disrespectful to the person who might end up being president one day.

Todd reached for his shoulder. “No Sheriff Green, I can’t tell you how thankful _I _am for what you did. And your nation, your _true_ nation, will be just as thankful, once this is all over and they know what it is you’ve done.”

“Jake, please, and I didn’t do it all by myself.” His face was hot. He hoped Cheung wasn’t watching.

“Robert Hawkins.” Todd nodded. “He and I talked this morning. I’m on my way to Columbus to meet with him. He spoke highly of you, by the way.”

Jake ignored the jolt Hawkins’ name had brought and opened his mouth to ask the question that was burning his lips. But then he closed his mouth. Even after all he’d done, it wasn’t his place to ask.

Todd, though, cocked her head and nodded. She scanned the area, then led him to a secluded spot, out of earshot of the hospital staff. “You want to know if we’ll be throwing our hat into your ring.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He could barely get the words out, his throat was so dry.

“Jake, normally this would be classified, but after everything you’ve been through, you’ve earned the right. We’ve been debating this for months; the ASA is tremendously powerful and a fight with them would cost a lot of lives.”

Todd looked out through the wide front doors, her face starkly sad, as if already seeing her state in ruins and Jake’s heart sank. “But,” she turned back to him, “we decided last night that the only way this country will survive is to go back to where we were. So yes, we’ll be joining you in your fight.”

Jake heard the words through the thumping of his heart and he wanted to sag against the wall. All the hell he’d been through in the last year, the hell his friends and family had been through—it would’ve been for nothing if the U.S. fell to J&amp;R and the ASA. He cleared his throat and nodded several times.

Todd put her hand on Jake’s shoulder again and this time she smiled. The smile changed her entire face and Jake was reminded of his mom. “I know. It’s been a long, hard road for all of us. But with a little faith,” her smile changed to a grin, “and a hell of a lot of diplomacy, we’ll get through.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now,” Todd said, as she turned to the door, “you’ve got to get on the road and I’ve got to get in the air. We’ve contacted our patrols; they have your route and you’ll be fine until you get to the border. After that I’m afraid you’re on your own. We’ve been making forays up into the Handle, but it’s rough. You two will need to take a great deal of care. Agent Cheung has all the available intel.”

He wanted to ask why they were taking a route that would take them west, but didn’t. Todd needed to go and he didn’t want to hold her up.

“You have fuel and food. I’ve also taken the liberty of supplying you with a variety of medical necessities. I’m thinking your little town could use them.” She looked over Jake’s shoulder and he turned to find Louden standing by the reception desk. She wore a neutral expression that didn’t reach her eyes—she must’ve had a run-in with Todd and lost.

Jake grinned—he would’ve loved to have seen that. “Yes, ma’am, we could.”

The door opened as they approached and the night air flowed around them. The air was hot and smelled a little of exhaust, but the small fire of hope that had never completely died out burned in his chest again, made the night brighter and sweeter. Things might actually work out after all.

Just as before, there was black SUV waiting at the curb, only this one was beat up and had grills on the front and rear fenders making it look like something out of a bad sci-fi movie. Cheung was sitting in the driver’s seat, doing something to the radio.

He turned to Todd and held out his hand. “Thanks for everything, ma’am.”

Todd took his hand in both of hers for a long, firm, clasp. “Same here, Sheriff Green. Good luck. I’ll be in touch.”

He pulled away and strode to the SUV. He tossed his bag in the back and got in. Without looking over, Cheung put the SUV in gear and they drew away from the curb. He raised his hand to wave, but Todd was already gone. Probably whisked away by her agents, on her way to the airport. “’Bye, ’bye, Dorothy,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” Cheung navigated around a concrete barricade and threw Jake a distracted glance.

“The Wizard of Oz. I feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when Glenda the Good Witch gives her those ruby slippers and she leaves with all those munchkins waving her goodbye.”

Cheung stared at Jake and shook his head slowly. “You on something?”

He laughed shortly. “No.”

“So, if you’re Dorothy, than who am I?”

“I’m _not _Dorothy. I mean, I just said I _felt _like Dorothy. You know, when—”

“When she gets the ruby slippers from the Good Witch, yeah, I heard. I’m just trying to figure out if I should dump you now or later.”

Jake scowled and shut up.

They’d driven several blocks when he remembered that he’d never found out the name of the clinic. He leaned out the window and peered through the dark, but couldn’t find a single sign. Even the street corners were signless. It was like the hospital didn't even exist.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” _Other than I just spent a couple days at a place that wasn’t there._

“Did Todd tell you what we’re up against?”

“Yeah.”

“If you’re tired, now’s the best time to get some rest.”

“Aren’t you the one that needs sleep? You just got shot. And you just got in from a long trip.” He didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm—he didn’t like Cheung and that was that.

“Like laying in a hospital bed for two days and sitting in a airplane seat is all that hard. I don’t need sleep, you do.”

“I’m fine.”

Cheung sighed, then said shortly, “I need you alert and well, Jake. You’re no use to me if you fall apart out there.”

Anger burned in Jake’s gut. He knew where all this was coming from. “What did Hawkins tell you?”

Cheung paused before he said, “Just that the ASA. put you through four days of torture, after which you were out for less than seven hours before you got on a plane to hijack, then transport, a bomb that could blow up a large city.” Cheung shrugged and added grudgingly, “He also said that you push yourself too hard and that you’ve been through a lot. He’s worried about you.”

Jake tightened his lips and stared out the window. After a moment, he was able to say, “I’m fine.”

Cheung shrugged. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. You’re going to get as much sleep as possible on the first leg of the trip. Since we’re in friendly territory, we’ll drive like hell until we get within twenty or thirty miles of the Oklahoma border. We’re going through the Panhandle, so—”

It was one thing to not question Todd—Cheung was an entirely different story. “Why not use I-35?”

“Two reasons. I’m not going near Dallas, not for twenty or thirty years, and Oklahoma has turned into a hellhole. Radiation from the Atlanta blast made it’s way into a lot of lower Oklahoma. Think of Ravenwood gone fucking crazy. Or better yet, think of that movie, the Road Warrior, only with a lot more weapons and a lot more psychos. Entire gangs of marauders taking down anyone and anything. Going through the Panhandle will be longer, but will minimize known risks.”

Jake frowned. “I thought the map showed the fallout from Denver was going to make it all the way down to Texas, including the Panhandle.”

“Hawkins showed you the models?” Cheung frowned, surprised, then shrugged again. “Whatever. Texas got lucky, sort of. The DoD models never accounted for wind currents, or at least, not the winds that blew that day. So instead of Texas getting the brunt, it was Kansas and Oklahoma. Which was also lucky for Hawkins.”

“Which means?”

Cheung glanced at Jake out of the corner of his eye. “So he didn’t tell you everything? He used that rain shower for cover to move the bomb to a more secure location.”

That was news to Jake, and he felt another spurt of frustration. There was so much Hawkins hadn’t told him—it was infuriating to think he’d had been running the operation right under his nose.

“Anyway, the winds shifted,” Cheung said, “and parts of the Panhandle and north Texas were in the clear. The rest of Oklahoma? Not so lucky.”

He rubbed his forehead. He’d had a couple good friends in Oklahoma City—they’d all gone to Embry together. After graduation they had made a pact to get together in fifteen years, and he wondered if the country would be put back together by then.

“So once we get to the border, and until we’re well within Kansas proper, we’re going to be careful. We’re going to be on alert, stay off the main roads and hope like hell we don’t run into anyone.”

“I know all the backroads within a couple hundred miles of Jericho,” Jake said. He looked out the window—they were just merging onto a wide highway—I-37, according to the sign.

Cheung smiled for the first time. “I was hoping you’d say that. The ASA. is saturating the areas between Cheyenne and Texas, setting up massive lines of men and machines, like their own little Berlin Wall. If we have any problems, Kansas is probably where it’ll be. Now,” he jerked his head towards the back, “I’ve left it clear so you can sleep. Go.”

He wanted to argue—he wasn’t all that tired and he was sick of everyone telling him what to do. But he supposed the alternative was to sit here, making small talk with Cheung and there was no way in hell he was going to do that. Without another word, he slid into the back and pushed things around until he was almost able to stretch out.

He heard a small click as Cheung turned on the radio and tried to find something that wasn’t static. He finally found something—a country channel playing something whiny and soft. He wrapped his arms around his chest. He usually hated country music but now it reminded him of home and as the singer sang about roads and miles, he watched the city flash by.

From the odd angle, he could see buildings of varying sizes, some lit, most dark, and it took him a minute to _see_ what he was seeing: A city still functioning, still whole. No partly destroyed buildings, no food lines, no one running around in a panic.

It was a reassuring sight and he relaxed enough that he thought he might sleep. He rolled to his side, his thoughts turning to Hawkins.

By now, he and Chavez had been in Columbus for almost two days. Hopefully they were in the middle of a meeting with Charles, telling him like it was.

Maybe when Hawkins got done, when things got back to normal, Jake would rope him into a little road trip. They’d drive to Oklahoma City to see if any of his friends had made it out alive, or maybe go up north and see if they could find any game. Hawkins would make a great hunter, what with his sniper skills and all.

He didn’t fall asleep, but he slipped into a comfortable daydream of the he and Hawkins in the Road Runner, on their way to nowhere.

 

——————————

 

“Well, that was one long-ass meeting.” Chavez threw himself on his bed, flipping over to lie on his back. He crossed his arms behind his head and said, “What do you think of Charles? And you know I’ve already done that, right?”

Rob grinned over his shoulder and finished his own security check of the room, checking out the usual suspects. Then he went to the window and looked out.

Two days ago, still in the air, they’d learned that Charles and Todd were gathering an emergency conference and had invited delegates from the remaining states. Or at least, from the states that were still intact with no radiation exposure.

Every delegate had to submit to a medical exam when they’d arrived, including blood work to prove that they weren’t carrying any communicable diseases. Chavez had fumed, but Hawkins just reminded him how vulnerable they all were, how easy it would be to take down the U.S. just by a simple, aggressive virus.

After they were all cleared, they were transported to Charles’ family estate outside Columbus. It was huge and rambling, but Charles had enough soldiers, dogs, and weapons to satisfy even Chavez.

The only drawback was that there weren’t enough rooms for the entire assembly so they were doubling up. Chavez had insisted on sharing a room, for old time’s sake he’d said, but Rob knew it was really because he’d been worried he’d be stuck with some boring politician.

Their room was on the second floor, directly above the dining room. It was decorated from top to bottom with a yellow flower motif that continued on into the bathroom. There were two sofas, a flat-panel TV, a desk in the corner that served as a study, and half a dozen statues and planters scattered about.

It was beautiful, luxurious, and serene, and Rob couldn’t wait to be gone. Conspicuous wealth made him uncomfortable at the best of times, but now? Now, it was almost obscene, the difference between where he’d been and where he was. As if he’d crossed eras and not time zones when he’d flown into Columbus.

The room, however, did have two floor-to-ceiling windows that looked west over the Scioto river, and he spent all his free time in front of them.

The sun was just setting, turning the river to flame, and it made him think of the Rogue, back in Jericho. The Rogue was a lot smaller and a hell of a lot uglier, but he'd give anything to see it right now. A longing that wasn’t unusual these days since all his thoughts seemed to turn to Jericho, one way or another.

He frowned, put Jake’s face out of his mind, and said, “You mean do I like him or do I trust him?”

“Both.”

Rob crossed his arms and turned to lean back against the casement. “He’s smart.”

“Yeah.”

“And organized.”

“Yeah.”

“And he means well.”

“But?”

“But, I don’t think he has a clue how bad it is, how entrenched Jennings &amp; Rall is.” Rob shrugged and shifted against the hard stone. “I think his comments about a simple mop-up are… Uneducated. I think he’s forgotten just how _big_ this country is. And, I think he’s depending too much on our allies.”

“Yeah, that is the problem, isn’t it? And it doesn’t help that some of our more important bases are now in so-called ‘enemy,’” Chavez made air quotes, “territory.”

“Well, his point about our eastern ports is a good one.” The eastern seaports ports were intact, but it would only take a couple single-bomb drops or launches and that crucial access still in U.S. hands would be gone. And that was enough not to rely on them, for now.

“Yeah,” Chavez said quietly.

“Still,” he rubbed his hands over his face and arched back, stretching out muscles that were stiff from sitting too much, for too long. His wound was healing nicely—it still ached from time to time, but that was it. “The news about Alaska canceling the J&amp;R contract is more than welcome. And finally hearing from Hawaii and Puerto Rico will ease our Eastern friend’s minds. They wouldn’t want any part of us without them.”

“Well, we won’t get anywhere if Todd doesn’t get her ass in gear.”

“She’s on her way.”

“So they keep saying.”

They were quiet for a long moment, each lost in thought. Rob could hear the delegates below and he twisted to watch them stroll around the broad veranda below. They were dressed, men and women alike, in uniform black or blue suits and white shirts.

At first the formality of the assembly had thrown him off; he wasn’t used to wearing a suit anymore and it had taken him a while to relax and really listen to what the delegates were saying instead of imagining how easy they’d had it, safe on the blue side.

And that wasn’t fair, not really. The delegates had seen their shares of troubles, but they were still under the impression that an outside force had invaded and that all this would be taken care of once Tomarchio came to his senses.

And although the meetings had gone well, for the most part, there was a disturbing lack of urgency from the delegates. Like Charles, most of them didn’t quite get it and he couldn’t blame them, not really. If he hadn’t been through the things he been through, seen the things he’d seen, maybe he wouldn’t get it either.

That would change, though, when he and Chavez got their chance to speak later in the evening. They’d only been given a few minutes to relate a small portion of their story, and hadn’t had time for the gruesome details.

He turned away from the window and leaned back again, staring at his shoes.

It would be fun, he mused, to let Jake loose on them. Jake would have them on their feet in a heartbeat. Either that, or he’d start yelling and shouting, and then he’d throw his hands up in frustration when they didn’t move fast enough. Then he’d storm out to try and fix things on his own.

“You thinking about your boy?”

“Stop calling him that,” Rob muttered. He wasn’t sure what he objected to most: that Chavez kept calling Jake a kid, or that he was _Rob’s. _Neither were true.

Chavez closed his eyes and muttered, “Whatever.” And then, when Rob thought he’d fallen asleep, he said absently, “It’s a shame.”

He’d said something like that, on the plane. “What is?”

“Jake. In a lot of ways, you two are perfect for each other. You’re in the same line of work and both of you are suspicious, hardheaded, and stubborn.”

“Hardheaded and stubborn are the same thing,” Rob said dully, mostly to say something, not liking the way Chavez words had hit hard and direct, like the bullet that had taken him down, not five days ago.

“Whatever,” Chavez repeated as he stretched and rose in one smooth move. “I’m hungry. You joining me?”

“Yeah, give me a minute.”

Chavez smirked. “Don’t be too long.”

Rob shook his head, muttering, “I won’t,” under his breath. He waited for Chavez to leave, then got out his cell and punched the number, already memorized, and waited for Jake’s answer.

After five rings he started to worry and was thinking about trying Cheung when the call clicked through. “Yeah?”

Jake’s voice was scratchy with sleep and Rob’s heart jerked and beat faster. “Hey.”

“Hawkins?” Rob could hear the rustle of fabric, and when Jake spoke again, his voice was clearer, more alert. “You okay?”

“Yeah, we made it fine. How’re you?”

“We’re, uh, wait,” Jake paused then said, “we’re outside of Abilene. We’re on 83. I think we’ll be by Amarillo in a couple hours.”

“I didn’t ask _where_ you were, Jake, I asked _how_ you are.”

“You know, that’s getting really annoying.” Rob could practically _hear_ Jake scowling. “It’s not like I’m five.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Just don’t push yourself, right?” Rob knew it was a mistake the minute he spoke. He waited for a response, and when he didn’t get one, he shrugged and said, “Things are all right here. Not going as fast as I’d like, but we just got started.”

“Have you met Charles?”

“Yeah. He’s a good man, Jake. I think you’d like him. He reminds me of your dad.” And that was mistake number two because it was going to be a long time before Jake could talk casually about his father, no matter the context. Sure enough, this time the pause was longer and Rob sighed. “Can I talk to Cheung?”

“Yeah.”

The cell’s speaker picked up the noise as the phone was exchanged and Cheung asked, “How’s beautiful downtown Columbus?”

He sounded a hell of a lot better than he had two days ago and Rob smiled in relief. “Well, since we’re not in Columbus, I wouldn’t know.”

“Huh.”

“Hmm-mm. Listen, how’re things going there?”

“Quiet.”

“Good, that’s good. I’d ask how Jake is doing, but he’s probably listening.”

Cheung hesitated, then said loudly, “He’s pretending to sleep.”

“Leave him alone, all right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cheung lowered his voice. “I don’t know why you’re so worried about him. He’s tough. He can handle himself.”

“Speaking of, did you ever thank him for saving your life?”

“How do you figure?”

“If Jake hadn’t come to save the day, he wouldn’t have shot Smith, and Smith, no doubt, would’ve eventually checked on you and he would have found out you were still in the land of the living.”

“Yeah, well, if I had let Jake come in the first place, both he and you would be dead.”

“Maybe, but you still owe him.”

“You’re such a pain in the butt, old man.”

“That’s why you love me,” Rob grinned into the phone.

Cheung snorted and said, “You want to talk to him again?”

“Yeah. Don’t forget, every six hours once you get out of Texas, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Here he is.”

Rob smiled and lay back, almost sighing as the soft mattress gave way. Outside, the sun had set, casting the room in a comfortable darkness.

Jake got back on. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to tell you that we’ve seen some data and the ASA is fortifying the area just to the west of Jericho.”

“Cheung already told me that.”

“Yeah, well, we just learned that fairly large pockets of their army has had mass desertions. Not large enough to put the fear of God into Jennings &amp; Rall, but enough that it would be worth our while to gather them up and bring them into the fold.”

“Why aren’t you telling Cheung this?”

“Because as far as I’m concerned, once you get out of Texas, you’re in charge. I’ve already told Cheung that.”

“I bet he’s not too happy about that.”

“He’ll live.”

“So, what, we look for troops on the way back?”

The tension was gone from Jake’s voice and Rob settled back further into the bed. “I’ve been thinking about that. It would probably be too dangerous to contact them directly—they might shoot first and ask questions later. Chavez and I have coded a message that you can send to anyone you meet within cell or two-way range, if you need it. We’ll figure a way to get it to you. So for now, if you see anything suspicious, keep your distance and mark the location. When you get to Jericho, relay those locations to Beck and you two draw up a map. When I get back, we’ll figure out if it’s feasible to go after the deserters.”

“Beck’s not a major anymore, remember?”

“Not for the ASA, no, but you can bet he’ll be one again for the U.S.”

“Okay, yeah, we’ll keep an eye out.”

“I think that’s it, Jake. I’ll check in during our next break.”

“Have fun.”

The smile was back in Jake’s voice and Rob wanted nothing more than to be there to see it. “You too.” He hung up before he could say more, like how much he missed Jake, how much he wished he could be there and not here.

He tossed the phone on the nightstand and closed his eyes. He should be down there with the delegates, schmoozing and running recon, but he didn’t move.

If he’d had his way, he and Cheung would have changed places and Jake would be by his side, riding shotgun while Rob drove them through the dark. They’d have a chance to relax and maybe talk. Or not, because getting Jake to really open up would take some doing.

So they’d drive, and like as not, they’d run into a little situation. Nothing deadly, just something that called for a little cloak and dagger stuff.

And afterwards, after they were safe, they’d find someplace to hole up. Jake would still be wired, jittery, his eyes wide and dilated the way they got during tense situations. He’d be breathing hard, and Rob would go up to him, close enough to feel his heat, to see the way his skin flushed. He’d wait for that perfect moment, that _second_ that Jake realized what was coming, then he’d pull Jake’s head down and—

He sat up, fisting the ugly yellow comforter that matched the ugly yellow wallpaper. He bowed his head and breathed in once, then twice, willing his body to relax.

_Shit._

Chavez was right, damn him. He’d called it when he said that Rob was too interested in Jake, that there was something between them. The proof was in the message he’d left a few days ago, the way his dick reacted just at the mere thought of Jake’s mouth, Jake’s body.

And he didn’t know what to do about it, didn’t even know if he _wanted _to do anything about it. Talking to himself wasn’t working, that much was clear. Telling himself that his rocky marriage was still worth saving was a half lie because to his shame, he knew that if both Darcy and Jake were here, right now, it would be Jake he watched, Jake he wanted.

He rubbed his hands over his face and hair, then pushed to his feet. He’d clear his head with a cold shower and get down to dinner before Chavez came looking for him.

 

——————————

 

Jake tipped his head from side to side, unable to release the tension in his neck. He hadn’t slept much—even without all the supplies, the SUV wasn’t built for a six-foot sleeper. His legs were too long and he’d woken to find himself twisted in position that hurt to get out of when he sat up.

Now his stiff muscles were starting to complain and all he wanted was for this trip to be over. When he got home he was going to spend at least an entire day in his old bed, just sleeping.

A small movement drew his eye and he looked over. Cheung was asleep, propped against the passenger side door with his arms folded across his chest. He slept like he moved, neat and contained. It was unnatural, Jake thought.

They’d switched outside of Canyon, Cheung finally giving in to Jake’s wheedling to just let him take over because if he wasn’t going to be sleeping, he might as well be driving.

It had been nice, at first, just running along the quiet roads in the dark, the headlights cutting arcs of light across the empty landscape. The SUV ran smoothly, taking the hills and valleys with ease, but he couldn’t help wishing for the Road Runner. She was fast and dependable and he knew how she’d respond at any given time, in any given situation.

She was, however, not so great on anything but paved roads. She wouldn’t have been able to stand up to the jolts and bumps because the farther north they drove, the worse the roads got.

Just past Amarillo, he came across a group of shallow holes in the concrete, like someone had taken a giant hammer to the road, punching out random chunks here and there. The damage worsened as he went north and he’d just missed a big hole when he realized what it was: damage from mortar rounds or small explosives.

The realization had given him the chills. He couldn’t tell how old the damage was but he hoped whoever owned the artillery was long gone.

After that, he drove with one eye on the road, the other on the landscape. He didn’t come across any people, but he didn’t see any wildlife, either, which was just as disturbing. In the past it had been impossible to drive a mile without seeing something, even if it was just a jackrabbit or a hawk. On a good day he’d see coyotes, deer, antelope, skunks, maybe even a badger or two.

Months ago he’d had a conversation with his father about the sudden scarcity of deer. His dad said he figured that wild animals had a sixth sense for disaster and that most of them had probably high-tailed it out of area before the bombs. They’d talked about taking an extended road trip northeast to see what they could find, but that same week the new wind turbines arrived from New Bern—minus Eric and Heather—and all hell broke loose.

The brief memory sharpened the dull grief that was never far away and he swallowed. His dad had been dead almost four months now and it still didn’t seem possible. Of all the people he’d expected to lose to conflict, his dad wasn’t even on the list—he'd always been too full of life and…

Eric would say that was because Jake hadn’t spent enough time with their dad, that he really didn’t know him all that well. That Johnston Green could feel pain and get sick with the best of them and if Jake hadn’t run off, he’d have learned that by now.

And maybe, he conceded, Eric would be right because for the first time in his life, Jake was starting to _get_ his dad, was starting to appreciate the choices he’d made, the reasons why’d he’d been so hard and unyielding.

It was an odd thing, this gradual shift in perception, and not totally welcome.

He supposed he was finally growing up, or maybe it was simply that surviving a nuclear attack changed people in fundamental ways and he was no exception.

Unlike Eric, he'd never made concrete plans for every stage of his life and looking back, comparing the _then _to the _now_, he realized he’d made sure everyone knew it. He’d told his father that he didn’t want to end up like him. He told his mother that he’d never settle down in Jericho. He told Emily that he would never get married because he didn’t want to stay in one place and he didn’t want kids.

He’d had a whole lot of knowing what he _didn’t _want, but not much of knowing what he _did_.

Except that wasn’t true anymore. He wanted to stay in Jericho and make sure the town survived, that it thrived. He wanted to be there for his mom in case her grief became too much to bear. And all of a sudden he had a new want that wasn’t altogether new. All because of that goddamn overheard conversation.

When he was fifteen or so, he came across his parents talking about the trouble he was having at school and what they were going to do about it. His mom had looked up at the wrong moment and found him hiding in the hallway, listening. She’d sent him outside to rake the leaves off the lawn, saying that eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves.

She was wrong, he decided, all these years later. If he hadn’t gone back to the room he’d never have heard Chavez, never knew that Hawkins had… What? Liked him?

He snorted softly. The idea was so damn ridiculous, like something from his junior-high days and he felt like an idiot for even thinking it.

But…

His smile died because it wasn’t just Hawkins and if Jake never had the balls to say it out loud, at least he could think about it in the privacy of his own mind.

Robert Hawkins. Such a normal name for such an abnormal guy. Not abnormal, he corrected himself, just unique because in all his up and down life, he’d never met anyone like Robert Hawkins.

Back in December, after two frustrating days of trying to turn a group of farmers into would-be rangers, Eric and Stanley had cornered Jake at Bailey’s and demanded to know all about Hawkins. There was, Eric had said, something really strange about the guy and they’d been arguing about who Hawkins really was and where he’d come from.

Eric said he was probably a spy for the Chinese, that he’d changed his mind after the bombs were detonated, and left with his family in tow. Stanley thought he was a spy working for the U.S., but that his cover had been blown in some spectacular way and was now on the run.

Their theories got progressively wilder as the evening wore on, the more they drank.

Jake had just sat there and laughed and smiled and kept his mouth shut. He hadn’t really thought it through, all those months ago, but even then he’d felt an odd kind of protectiveness towards Hawkins, a man he didn’t really trust, a man he knew could easily take care of himself.

Because by then, he’d seen Hawkins in action and he knew that his skills lay beyond a normal FBI agent. He had working knowledge of a wide range of weapons, was trained in some serious martial arts, spoke at least a couple languages, and always seemed to be one step ahead of their enemies.

All those things should have made Jake more worried, not less, but there was something about him, some sub-surface quality that had reassured Jake even when facts argued against that trust..

Hawkins might withhold the truth, but there was always a good reason. He might back Jake up when Jake asked for it or he might not, but it was never personal. Hawkins was one of the few people that routinely called Jake on his actions, but was always in his corner. He pushed and prodded and got in Jake’s face until Jake couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t somewhere in the background, watching him with those dark, steady eyes.

_‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you—’_

Jake shifted in his seat and squeezed the steering wheel. He couldn’t get that remark out of his head. It had followed him into sleep, hid behind his conversations with Hawkins and Cheung, and resounded every few miles like an echo that wouldn’t die. It was as if the words had taken root under his skin, making him restless and twitchy.

If things were normal, or what had passed for normal in his life, he’d easily be able rationalize away his own odd reaction: over six months without sex except for the occasional use of his own right hand, terrible stress almost every day, the death of his…

There Jake stopped himself because his father deserved better than to be used as a rationalization for Jake’s fascination with Hawkins. So did Bonnie, Gracie Leigh, and countless others.

And their deaths had nothing to do with the fact that it looked like he wanted Robert Hawkins in about a thirteen different ways, that he wished Rob were here with him, in the dark of the SUV and not some CIA spook who hated his guts.

Maybe an actual, honest, outcome of his dad’s death was that Jake was now hyper aware of the way time slipped by too quickly to notice. He’d said it to Eric, but now he _felt_ it—life _was_ too short. In nine month’s time he’d returned home, watched the world around him disintegrate, buried his father, and helped save a city of almost a million people from being blown up by a stolen nuke.

Who knew what would happen next?

Maybe Rob would be the next to go. Maybe it would be Jake, himself. Maybe the ASA would overrun the entire country and this time next year they’d all be dead or in prison. So maybe he should just find a way to take what he wanted _right now—_

He must have made some noise, because Cheung jerked awake, saying, “We okay?”

“Yeah, I was going to get you up. We’ll be at the border in about twenty minutes.” His hands were sweating and he surreptitiously wiped them on his jeans.

Cheung rubbed his eyes and reached under the seat for his water bottle. He drank deeply and held it out. Jake shook his head. Cheung finished it off, then asked with another yawn, “Did Hawkins call?”

“No,” Jake said. He’d been hoping Rob would call by now. During their next break, he’d said. It had been hours since then, and Jake was trying not to imagine the worst. Columbus was about as safe as anywhere, being coastless and in the middle of what used to be the U.S., but nowhere was truly safe, not anymore.

“Have you tried?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt him.”

“Well, call him now. We might not have reception once we get out of the state.”

He was right; they needed to make contact, but for some reason Jake didn’t want to make the call with Cheung listening in so he used the excuse of a pit stop. “Do you need to pee?”

“Yeah, that would be good. We’ll also refuel.”

Jake nodded and looked around for a safe place to stop. It had to be out in the open with as much line of sight as possible. He finally found a place that would do; a broad, flat expanse of highway that allowed for a good ten miles sight in all directions.

He pulled over to the shoulder and turned off the engine. “Do you want the lights on?”

“Yeah.” Cheung jumped out and Jake followed.

The night was cool after the heat of the San Antonio and the air was fresh and clean. He turned in a circle, making sure they really were alone. No sign of anyone, as far as he could see and it felt good, being out in the open. He’d never quite gotten used to the noise and constant commotion of large cities, even smaller ones the size of San Antonio.

He waited for Cheung to choose a direction, then went opposite, pulling out his cell as he walked. When he was far enough away to speak without being overheard, he flipped open the phone, scrolled through the short menu until he found the number he wanted.

Rob answered immediately with a hushed, “Hey, are you okay?”

Jake hunched his shoulders. It was a little humiliating to realize that Rob’s ever-present concern was starting to feel good, was starting to feel _right. _“Yeah, just taking a break before we reach the border.”

There was a muffled _excuse me, _and when Rob came back on, he spoke normally, “You’re still in Texas?”

“Yeah. Did I call at a bad time?”

“No, it’s fine, we’re about done. Besides,” Rob laughed softly, “with this group, there never will be a _good _time.”

“Are things that bad?”

“No, no they’re not. We’re finally making progress. Once they heard what Chavez and I had to say, they started to get the picture. I mean, the _real _picture. And now that Todd is here we can finally get down to real business.”

Jealousy bit sharply at the mention of Chavez and Jake ran his hand through his hair. There wasn’t any reason for it; he had no claim. Rob wasn’t his, wasn’t anyone’s except maybe his wife’s. So maybe it was just that he felt left out, that he’d gotten used to being in the center of the action and didn’t like it that big things were happening and he wasn’t part of them.

Rob waited for a moment, then continued softly, “By the way, Jake, Todd had some really good things to say about you.”

“Little old me?” He looked around to make sure Cheung was still out of earshot, because even to himself that sounded more than a little stupid. And flirty.

There was a slight pause, long enough for him to regret his comment, then Rob chuckled. “Yes, Jake Green, little old you. She told me that I made a good choice when I brought you in. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had nothing to do with it.”

“C’mon, I wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, yes you were. You were a pain in the ass, from the very beginning, and I’ve been thankful for it ever since.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He knew what he _wanted _to say, but common sense told him that he should shut up now before the illusion of freedom that night and distance gave let him say something he’d regret.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned. Cheung was walking toward him, wiping his hands on a cloth. When he got closer, he could smell the scent of gasoline and it made him grin—Cheung hated getting his hands dirty. “Do you want to talk to Cheung?”

“No, there’s nothing to talk about. It’s almost one in the morning; we’ll be stopping soon. Everybody’s pretty tired.”

Cheung held out his hand and with no small amount of satisfaction, Jake shook his head and turned away again.

“Hey, Jake?” Rob’s voice dropped, low and soft.

“Yeah?”

“Is Cheung right there?”

“Yeah.”

“Jake, I…” Rob hesitated, then said louder, “Never mind. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“’Night.”

“’Night.” Jake pressed ‘end,’ and stared at the phone.

“Is everything all right?” Cheung’s face was backlit by car’s headlights. Jake couldn’t make out his expression but he sounded pissed.

“Yeah, he didn’t have anything new to report.” He headed back to the car and tucked the phone in his pocket.

Cheung made it to the SUV first. With a sideways glare, he climbed in the driver’s seat without a word.

Muttering, “Whatever,” Jake settled in the passenger side and tried not to grin at his small, pathetic triumph. It looked like Cheung wasn’t used to sharing, or maybe it was just that he and Rob and Chavez had worked so closely together, having a fourth was something he wasn’t going to welcome, no matter the circumstances. But who cared? It wasn’t his problem. He leaned back in the seat and put one foot up on the dashboard.

He ignored Cheung and the radio as the landscape rolled by and it wasn’t until they were well over the Texas border into enemy territory that he realized he’d started to think of Hawkins as _‘Rob.’_

And that, he thought, was another thing he probably should be worried about. But wasn’t.

 

——————————

 

Rob leaned back and let the waiter pick up his plate and silverware. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he smiled at Chavez’ story and glanced around the table at six of his fellow delegates, trying not to let his frustration show.

Todd had gotten to the conference late the previous evening. She’d arrived in time to hear him give a down and dirty expose of how the ASA and J&amp;R had taken over the country. She’d jotted down a few notes but hadn’t asked any questions.

Rob and Chavez had debated the advisability of reporting to the general conference about Smith’s part in the disaster. Chavez was concerned that the delegates would panic and form factions. Rob was concerned that any decisions they made would be based on incomplete knowledge because he still didn’t know if some of his theories about the depth of Smith’s involvement were just that, theory or fact.

In the end, they decided that secrets had made the country vulnerable in the first place, so, no more secrets.

The news of Smith came as a shock to the entire committee. Rob had watched as their expressions went from surprise to outraged disbelief, wishing he had a camera to record it for posterity. It was impossible—Governor Higgens had insisted—a single man couldn’t orchestrate such a catastrophic event. Representative Watkins said that Rob was wrong and that the North Koreans had planted the evidence against Smith.

It took both Charles and Todd a good half hour to get everyone to shut up and Rob was pretty sure if it hadn’t been for Todd, they’d still be down there, arguing. Charlene Todd, Rob had found, was very good at calming people down. Mostly because she was tall and forceful and she looked like she had the chops to belt anyone that got out of hand. Rob liked her.

They broke up a little before two in the morning. Rob and Chavez returned to the room. Chavez did the security sweep and Rob worked for another two hours, prepping for the next day’s meeting. He finally got to bed only to dream of Jake, lean and tan, wearing just a pair of shorts, working as a pool boy on Charles’ estate.

He’d woken up, tired and out of sorts, to another picture-perfect Ohio morning. At eight, Chavez nagged him into getting up for a quick workout, saying that they both needed it if they were going to sit on their asses for the next twelve hours. At eleven they went down to the formal dining room for a two-hour brunch that consisted of too much food and too much chatter.

He tried to be agreeable and friendly, but it was a poor effort—he didn’t need Chavez’ kick on the shin to tell him that. But he was on edge for no good reason and Chavez’ stories were starting to grate.

Rob waited for him to finish, which he eventually did, and for everyone to laugh, which they immediately did. Then he took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “Well, it’s getting late. I think I’ll go for a walk before the _morning_ session.” He stood up and nodded to the group, then tossed his napkin on the table and left, ignoring Chavez’ raised eyebrow.

The dining room was full and he had to wind his way through the linen-covered tables to get to the double doors that led to the patio. He nodded and shook hands as he went. As if this were a country club event, he thought irritably.

Outside it was still as beautiful as it had been three and a half hours ago and Rob grimaced at the wasted time.

Two hours of listening to small talk about how hard it was to find clothes and shoes. Two hours less to devote to what was sure to be a crucial meeting. Two hours spent _here _and not in Jericho.

As if responding to his thought, his cell rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, already anticipating what Jake would say after he heard of the delay and the reason behind it. “Hey, Jake.”

There was a short pause, and then, “Robert?”

Rob froze.

Darcy. It was Darcy and he felt like kicking himself. He hadn’t talked to her since he left Jericho—was it only five days ago? It seemed like a hell of a lot longer.

When he’d first got to Columbus, he’d asked Beck to pass on the news of his safe arrival. And after that, it always seemed like there wasn’t enough time to pick up the phone and punch in a few numbers. He was a coward and he deserved everything she threw at him.

“Darcy. How are you?” He walked to the waist-high stone wall that circled the large veranda and leaned against it. The Scioto was about thirty feet away and on it, a lone duck paddled back and forth.

“Fine, Rob. You didn’t call.” She wasn’t accusing, but he could hear the anger simmering underneath.

“Yeah, sorry about that, D. We’ve been busy and it’s been hard to get away. Even harder to think of anything other than what we’re going to do next. How have you been?” he said before he remembered he’d just asked her that very thing.

She ignored his question and said, “I know you’re _really _busy, but the kids have been asking about you. They’re worried.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Are they there? Can you put them on?”

“Sure. Here’s Allison.”

He felt a presence and he turned to find Chavez a couple feet away, face blank, hands in his pockets. Rob nodded and turned away to talk to Allie, all the while feeling the weight Chavez’ stare on the back of his neck.

By the time he’d finished talking to Sam, guilt and shame were sharpening their claws and digging in. He said goodbye to Sam without asking to speak to Darcy again. He wasn’t sure what to say to her, because there was nothing _to _say.

Familiar pressure clogged his throat and he swallowed hard. This juggling act was how it had been for most of his married life; there was no use crying about the choices he’d made, not now. It was just…

He ran his hand over his hair as he admitted to himself that he wasn’t sure how much more he could take, how much longer he could keep doing this to his kids. He carefully laid his cell on the wall and waited for Chavez to speak.

“Remember what I told you back in Kazakhstan, all those years ago?” Chavez asked quietly. He came up to stand next to Rob, staring out over the Scioto with his hands still in his pockets.

Rob pushed the phone in a circle, spinning it like a top. “No, Chavez, I don’t.”

“I told you people like us can’t have kids.”

He said nothing. He remembered—they’d only been working together a short time and he hadn’t yet gotten used to Chavez unsparing honesty. The conversation had been short and not so sweet—he’d just gotten out of a casual relationship and had met Darcy, all within the space of a week. Chavez had told him he should think it through, that getting involved with a civilian was a big mistake.

“Yeah, by your silence, I’m thinking you—”

He reached for Chavez’ shoulder, only to remember at the last minute where he was. He looked around, pasting on a smile for the few delegates on the veranda even though no one was paying them any attention.

The moment gave him time to regroup and he was able to say evenly, “Hindsight is for cowards.”

“I really don’t think you want to start any name calling, Hawkins,” Chavez said, his voice suddenly dangerously soft, “not with me.”

Rob nodded and turned back to the river. Chavez knew him through and through and if they ever found themselves on opposite ends of an agenda, the fight would be brutal and long.

Which was neither here nor there, and Chavez was right—that was the problem. “So what do you suggest I do? It’s not like I can return them. They’re not something I picked up at Wal-Mart, for Christ’s sake. And I wouldn’t, even if I could. I—” He swallowed back the words.

“You know what you can do. You just have to do it.” Chavez turned from the river and looked directly at Rob. “Your problem is, you want your three-course meal and your cake and you want to eat them at the same time, at the same table.”

Rob grimaced at the metaphor, and Chavez continued, “You can’t have both. Not anymore. And you know what I think.”

“What’s that, Chavez?” Rob asked bleakly.

“That you’re more suited to the cake.” He pushed away from the wall and jerked his head towards the house. “I came out to tell you the morning session is starting. The sooner we get this all hashed out, the sooner we can get the fuck out of here.”

He left without another word and Rob shook his head and opened up the phone again. Jake and Cheung should be well over the border by now and he really wanted to hear Jake’s voice before he had to go inside and sit down.

He dialed quickly and waited for an answer. After the sixth ring, he checked the call status even though he knew what the display would say. The bars showed the signal was strong. Which meant… nothing, really. There was no reason to be uneasy. They could be taking a break, filling up the car, or one of them could be sleeping and the other listening a CD or something.

He let the phone ring a couple more times, then pressed ‘end.’ And then, because he couldn’t stand it, he called Cheung. Same thing. He frowned at the mute plastic for a moment, wishing it could just _tell _him how they were doing. Then he shrugged helplessly and turned to the house. He’d suggest a break in an hour and if he was lucky, he’d actually get it.

 

——————————

 

Cheung turned the radio on. Again. He spun the dial, looking for something other than static. _Again._

Jake stopped himself from reaching over to pull the knob off, but only just even though he was so damned tired of Cheung turning it on and off every few miles. He thought longingly of the stack of CDs in the glove compartment. It would have helped if someone had thought to check if the CD player even worked, because it would have saved them some grief—Cheung, apparently, was a noise junkie.

Hours ago, as they’d crossed the Panhandle, they’d almost got in a real fight over who had control over the radio. Cheung thought it should be the driver because the driver was doing all the work. Jake thought it should be the passenger since the passenger didn’t have to keep his eyes on the road.

It was juvenile and ridiculous, and after they had spent a few minutes yelling at each other, he gave in, not gracefully. He’d honestly felt like punching Cheung and was glad he hadn’t, but only because Rob would roll his eyes when he found out. And maybe say something like, _‘We don’t have time for games, Jake.’_

Now, every time Cheung stretched out his hand, Jake bit his lip and promised himself that when it came his turn to drive, he’d never touch the knob, just to drive Cheung crazy.

He reminded himself that it was the tension—it was making him edgy and jumpy because Todd had been right—Oklahoma _had_ been a hellhole.

The roads were a mess with deep pits and cracks, telephone poles were down, and abandoned cars and trucks littered the highway, the shoulders. More than a few times they’d had to slow to a crawl to thread their way through the remains of a multi-car pile up or navigate around an abandoned vehicle. After driving past the fourth overturned tanker, glass and metal everywhere, he'd said a silent prayer of thankfulness that they hadn’t come through at night—there was no way they would have made it without blowing a tire or two.

And then he stopped saying prayers when they saw what waited for them after they’d crossed the Oklahoma/Kansas border.

At first he thought the piles along the sides of the road were discarded clothing, which was weird, but not much more than anything else he’d seen so far. Then he saw bones showing through the fabric and realized what the piles were. Even Cheung was shocked and Jake quietly told him about the winter before when he, Stanley, and Mimi had gone hunting and had found the tail end of a massive human migration and the bodies of those who hadn’t made it.

He wondered if these were from the same exodus. If so, they hadn’t gotten very far and he felt almost sick to his stomach at the idea that they’d died on the side of the road like animals.

But the worst was a few miles beyond Sublette—an awkward semi-circle of cars, a bare hundred feet from the highway, some burned, most just stripped of anything of value. Whoever—_why _ever—they’d made a stand but it hadn’t worked—even from the distance he could see the bullet holes in the metal and glass. Animals had long since got to the bodies, but that didn’t make it any less horrific, seeing the open doors with long, thin bones sticking out.

It was obvious that these people had died by human hand and he had screwed his eyes closed against the sight. Cheung swore under his breath and gunned the SUV, speeding away as fast as the road would let him.

They didn’t speak much after that, but when they did, it was with a little less antagonism, a little more friendliness. He figured Cheung realized, just as he had, that out here they only had each other and that they’d better learn to deal.

So, he shut up about the radio, and breathed a sigh of relief as they drove on and the landscape opened up to the southern fields of Kansas, showing nothing but unplowed fields and emptiness.

They decided to drive the long way around Garden City. Or rather, Jake decided it. He remembered it as being a fairly large town and he didn’t want to take a chance on meeting up with any locals, not after what they’d seen in Sublette.

Garden City was about two miles behind them when they passed a sign for the turnoff to Corrigan Lake and his spirits lifted. Corrigan Lake wasn’t much of a lake, but he’d been there a couple times when he was a teenager—it was ten miles south of Scott City, which was maybe sixty miles south of Jericho. He reminded himself that they weren’t home just yet and anything could happen so he had to be prepared, had to stay sharp.

Even so, when the attack came, no one was more surprised than he.

It happened fast. One minute they’d were driving down a long dip between two worn-away bluffs, the next, they were surrounded by a loose circle of trucks that seemed to come out of nowhere.

Cheung snarled, “Gun!” as he wrenched the SUV around, down the embankment and up the side of the bluff, making for a gap between two old Fords while Jake desperately scrambled for his gun.

They cleared the gap but Cheung pushed the SUV too hard and he lost control, skidding and slipping on the steep, sandy, bank.

As if he was watching from a distance, Jake saw the SUV slide towards the ditch that ran along side the road, saw the tires come off the ground. His last thoughts just before they rolled were, _Shit, the fuel, _and _I wonder how Mom and Dad are going to find us this time._

 

————————————

 

For once, the session moved swiftly. It was as if everyone realized that they were spinning their wheels and that it was time they worked as a group, not as individuals each representing a particular interest. By three, they had a head start on two resolutions. The success energized them and they decided to work through the afternoon break. By five, the resolutions were complete and they’d started on a third.

Rob had added little to the discussions—it wasn’t his thing, policy making, and anyway, he had something else to preoccupy his mind—he wasn’t able to leave his cell alone. He found himself furtively taking it out of his pocket every hour to see if any messages had come through. Which they hadn’t. If it was just Jake, well, that was one thing, but Cheung was now four hours late for his check-in, and he was never, _ever_ late.

At half past three, he excused himself and called from the bathroom, but no luck. And by the time Charles announced a break, six hours after they had sat down, his circumspect concern had turned into active worry. Something had happened, he was sure of it.

“Okay, I think that’s it, folks. Let’s get some dinner and meet back here in two hours.” Charles stood and looked down the long table, smiling at the committee. He seemed hopeful for once and Rob would’ve smiled back, but he was already on his way out the door with Chavez hot on his heels.

He didn’t wait for the elevator to take them up to the ground floor. Instead, he used the stairs, punching the numbers as he ran. By the time he reached the small door that lead to the north side of the estate, the phone was ringing. He hurried outside and paced the narrow path, back and forth, as he silently told Jake to pick up.

“Hawkins, what the—?” Chavez was behind him, hands on his hips.

Rob held up his hand. One ring, two, and he was just about to hang up when the cell clicked through. He smiled, already preparing the hell he was going to give them. “Jake? What hap—” He stopped and his smile cracked as he listened intently, trying to parse what he was hearing. Then he nodded and said calmly, “Right. I’m coming.” He hung up.

Chavez grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “What’s going on?”

Rob squinted up at Chavez. His heart was cold in his chest and his half-healed wound ached. “That was Jake’s cell.”

Chavez frowned in confusion. “And?”

“That was Jake’s cell, but that wasn’t him. Or Cheung.” He stared unseeingly at the phone, the shock already fading, the wheels already turning. “It was a man, not young. There was a lot of noise, like music or something. Someone was shouting in the background. Then the man hung up.” He squinted up at Chavez.

“And the shouting was…”

“Yeah, I think it was Jake.”

Chavez stepped closer. “Tell me.”

Rob closed his eyes and opened up to the newborn memory—these first few seconds were crucial and he had to get it right. “Noise. I’m pretty sure it was music, the kind you hear at a carnival. The man had a slight accent, maybe Texas. Oklahoma? Then a shout—Jake, I’m pretty sure. Then, _‘Hawkins,’ _and then something I couldn’t catch. And finally, another man, not the first, saying something about, _‘I told you,’ _and that was it.” He opened his eyes and stared at Chavez as they exchanged a long, grim look.

They had been through this before—listened or watched while partners and enemies alike were tortured, murdered. Hell, he’d been on the other side more than a few times, meting out pain in order to get what he wanted and he didn’t have to guess what was being done to Jake and Cheung.

He should just ignore the call, ignore the roiling in his gut. This conference was vital to survival of the nation he’d served so long. One man—even two—could never be that important.

And if the tables were turned? If it was him out there and Jake here?

The roiling suddenly subsided, settling to stone, because there was no way in hell Jake would _ever_ abandon him if the tables were turned.

“Do I need to ask what you’re going to do,” Chavez said with growing anticipation in his eyes. He’d never been any good at sitting still.

Rob just looked at him.

Chavez raised one eyebrow. “Do I need to tell you how hard it will be finding them in that mess, or that we might not get there in time?”

He shook his head.

Chavez drew a deep breath and grinned, wolfishly. “Okay then, let’s go.”

Rob met his grin with a smile he knew was even more vicious and opened his cell. He needed to call Beck and let him know what was going on. Then he’d make their excuses to Charles and Todd while Chavez gathered their gear and the supplies they’d need. And they’d be on their way, off to find the fuckers that had taken Jake.

 

 

end of part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Maygra for the initial beta and Dlasta for everything else. Artwork available at: http://tenebris.org/x__art/fic_jericho_sundays.htm


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